


Emily - Pictures, Poems and Songs

by BassoonGirl



Category: Emily of New Moon - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 117,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BassoonGirl/pseuds/BassoonGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Emily and Teddy finally got married?  A look at them, their family and friends in the years that followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappointed

**Author's Note:**

> The main characters belong to L.M. Montgomery. All song lyrics are referenced with composer/artist and song title.

May 1913  
“From the sound of your voice, the promise you make  
You're somebody I can believe in  
Someone who won't leave me feeling...  
Disappointed, once more”  
\- The Pet Shop Boys – “Disappointed”

It was a shimmering, crystalline Wind Woman who sped Emily’s feet as she hurried along the path between New Moon and her no-longer-Disappointed House. The trees whispered to one another in the mid-Spring sunshine, promising an effervescent and refreshing sunset; the heat and light of a beautiful season soon to arrive. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon, and past time for her to be getting a start on dinner. How did she let the time pass so quickly? Her daily visits to see Cousin Jimmy and Aunt Laura at home had become routine over the winter, since her return from Europe. Her family was aging, and nothing would ever fill the gap that Elizabeth Murray’s unexpected passing in January had created. New Moon was still home to the last of the original Murrays, but soon Andrew would descend with his ‘modern’ ideas and his new wife Gladys and their three children. He had made noises to that effect at the funeral, but they were quickly quashed by everyone in attendance. Even Uncle Oliver had rebuked his son for his presumption. New Moon would remain in the hands of those who had cared for it for years, at least for the time being. This was due, in no small part, to Emily.

Emily glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist and smiled, as she always did when she thought of him: Teddy. The rose-colored months since their wedding had flown by. He had taken her on a blissful honeymoon and returned in time for Christmas, at her wish. They had spent it in their house, together. They joined the family for dinner, of course, but for the first time in her life since the death of her father, Emily had someone to celebrate with in her own way. Teddy stood by her side as she made funeral arrangements for the aunt who had, behind her harsh and martial exterior, loved Emily as much as anyone. Elizabeth Murray lived to see her sister’s little girl grow up and marry the right man. She lived to read her niece’s first two books and see the child she had raised become a respected author. The heart attack that took her in her sleep came at a time of peace and contentment in their family.

The fact that Teddy stood by Emily’s side was, in large part, why Oliver Murray bade his son to bide his time in invading the Murray homestead that was his inheritance. Teddy Kent was more than a force to be reckoned with, he had learned in the preparations for their wedding. When Oliver suggested that they go to Halifax for their honeymoon to save money, Kent had laughed in his face. He would take his ‘beloved’ on the trip of her dreams and cost was no object. He had also spent an unheard of amount on her wedding ring, or so the jewelers in Shrewsbury had told him. Supposedly, he hadn’t even bought it in Canada! Of course that was just Bernard Stein talking, and the Steins were not Islanders; you could never really trust a foreigner, after all.

Emily slipped inside the door and shook off her coat. Its rich fur was in stark contrast to the wooden peg it hung on. She’d stopped arguing and refusing his gifts. There was no point. Expensive – extravagant – unnecessary: they were all of that, and she felt, completely unsuited to their simple comfortable existence. 

“But one day my love, one day I’ll build you a palace fit for the queen of my heart. We’ll celebrate finding the end of the rainbow with all of the gold and finery we always dreamed of,” Teddy said one blustery February night, as they sat in front of their glowing hearth and contemplated the eternity they would now be privileged to spend together.

Emily swept her eyes over her home and nodded with a certain, smug satisfaction. No amount of gilt frippery or marble majesty could replace this. The well-worn sofa they found in the New Moon attic had been recovered with inviting cream velvet. It made you want to sink into it with a good book or a better friend. Aunt Elizabeth had deemed it sorely impractical and unsuited to a young couple who might…well… It was impolite to talk of such things. There was a curious, curved legged table in front of it made of cherry wood. Teddy had unearthed it from among the meager possessions his mother had left behind. Emily couldn’t remember seeing it in the Tansy Patch, but it fit here perfectly. There was a basket of knitting beside the sofa that was always overflowing with some project or other for Teddy. There was a marble topped writing desk from Great Aunt Nancy. Emily had not inherited it, but Caroline Priest had sent it to her as a wedding gift. That, in itself, was oddly perverse. The piece itself was early Arts and Crafts, and elegant in its simplicity. On the mantel were the silver candlesticks that Juliet Murray had carefully packed away in the hope chest that she never came home to collect. Beside them was a photograph of their wedding and another of Emily and her Aunts and Cousin Jimmy on the same day. The view from their newly-enlarged bay windows with its vistas of stately birch and pine in the foreground and the Blair Water in the back was a window on another world. Always wide open, the Wind Woman went her way through the garden, weaving in and out among the flowers and tempting the occupants of the house with the hint of their fragrance. No princess, no queen had this! Emily smiled with delighted propriety.

“And what is that smile for?”

Teddy’s voice slid gracefully into her daydream and she looked up at him with delight, “For you,” she murmured. The very sight of him, here in their home, comfortable and content was worth another thrill of delicious happiness and another smile that sped her husband’s heart.

He nodded in thanks and wiped his hands on a paint-soiled rag that reeked sharply with the tang of turpentine. “A smile like that is worth its weight. Here, I picked you up a little something today while I was out.” He offered her the velvet box that she had not noticed was sitting on the small table in the hall. He had hoped it would arrive in time for her birthday two days ago, but he had to make due with flowers for that and felt ridiculously guilty.

“Teddy!” her sigh was exasperated. It was impossible to reason with him on this account. No matter how many times she told him not to, he would continually surprise her with baubles and trinkets. It had been her fear, initially, that he was bankrupting himself for her pleasure, but he had reassured her that this was nothing she needed to worry about. She had a vague idea that Teddy must be well off. He had a lovely house in Montreal that she had visited before their wedding, and apparently another in Toronto that he used when he travelled there on business. She had never been there, not yet anyway. When he explained that it was much more practical than renting hotel rooms everywhere, she agreed. She had her own money from her writing, and this house was hers. Although Dean had gifted it to the both of them in his letter, it was her name on the deed. She owned the parcel of land that had been Lofty John’s Bush as well. Teddy had refused to take any of this into both of their names; he said that she needed her independence and freedom.

Although Teddy was just Teddy to her, she knew that his work was immensely well-regarded. Even though he had resigned from the College of Art and Design in Montreal when they were married so that he could spend all of his time here on the island with her, he was working constantly and had presented an exhibit in Paris during their honeymoon. She loved what he drew and painted, even if his inclusion of her in almost all of it was a bit unsettling. It was rather delicious to be related to an artistic genius now. He called her his muse sometimes; it made her smile to be compared to inspiration.

Emily really had no idea how well to do her husband was. He didn’t either, not exactly. Frederick Kent was actually quite wealthy and becoming more so each day. Teddy had realized, after his mother’s death, that his father’s estate had never been settled. His mother had mentioned an insurance policy that she and her son had lived on, but had never contacted the Kent family after she left Ontario. She had been terribly afraid that they would take away the only thing she had left in her life. Teddy paid a long-overdue visit to Malton, the ancestral seat of the Kents north of Toronto, and was astounded. His father’s family was extremely wealthy, with roots in the English aristocracy. Teddy’s great-grandfather came to Canada as an ex-chequer for the King and owned a huge farm and lumber business. David Kent himself had been a self-made man and an astute investor, outside of his family’s money. Backing automotive development and the telephone-telegraph companies had been risky in the 1880s. Thirty years later, it was solid gold and would become the base upon which Teddy would build his own portfolio. The only son of an only son, Teddy inherited everything and made the leap into a world of investments and business transactions that he had only heard about vaguely before then. The only thing that he knew anything about really, was art. But, he was a quick learner and in the two years before his marriage to Emily he had backed many successful business ventures and owned stock in two Canadian banks, the New York Exchange, and both the General Motor Company and General Electric. Teddy also believed that land was the best investment of all, and bought parcels everywhere he thought might eventually be developed. He had, wisely, left the lumber business to the cousins who had been running it forever. Although it could have been all his, he felt that was presumptuous and signed everything except a marginal profit-sharing percentage over to his relations. As such, he left Malton with goodwill between himself and the family he had never known he had.

Painting was his passion, and his father had given him the ability to concentrate on it fully, finally. That, and he could finally give Emily everything he had always wanted to. “Open it, love,” he smiled down at her happily. He ordered this from the Blue Book when she remarked that she thought it was incredibly beautiful.

Emily sighed and looked up at him through her dark, sooty lashes, “Thank you.” She sighed and glanced down at the box in her hands. She lifted the hinged lid and her eyes widened. Against the smooth satin rested a row of perfectly matched rubies, set in 24 karat gold. Emily was stunned and finally managed to choke out, “Teddy…oh…but what for…oh it’s lovely, I…” she had no idea what to say to this. She had seen it in the Tiffany’s catalogue months ago and remarked how incredible it was. She had no idea that he would ever buy her something like this.

Her wedding ring came from Tiffany’s. She and Teddy had searched high and low in every jewelry store in Montreal for an engagement ring after he first came back to her. He had not even thought about it when he first came to the Island and proposed. When he realized his omission, he wanted to make up for it. She had balked at the idea of wearing some chunk of stone that bore no resemblance to them. While the child Emily might have dreamed of diamonds, the grown up woman wanted only a talisman to their love, a lodestone rather than a gemstone. In frustration, Teddy took her to New York on their way back to the Island and sat her down with the engagement ring designer at Tiffany’s. Although there were so many beautiful things, Emily wanted only her rainbow’s end. In the end she had the Lost Diamond set as an engagement ring. The Aunts balked at the fact that she wore someone else’s stone, but were secretly pleased that she remained connected to her roots. Teddy finally found a wedding ring that met her expectations and had it engraved accordingly. She had no idea what it might have cost him, nor did she care. She took off the engagement stone for everyday and only wore her wedding ring. Teddy wore her father’s wedding band.

Teddy reached down and picked up the necklace, then clasped it about the slim ivory column of her throat. “Happy belated Birthday,” he whispered. Giving Emily pretty things was something he enjoyed about being married.

Emily looked at her reflection in the hall mirror and shook her head ruefully, “My, but the General Store in town has certainly improved their stock this year!” She grinned back at her husband and admired the stones again. Was it the rubies or the fact that she was already the happiest woman alive that made her look this way? She had a gift for Teddy too.


	2. "This Woman's Work"

“Pray God you can cope.  
I stand outside this woman's work,  
This woman's world.  
Ooh, it's hard on the man,  
Now his part is over.  
Now starts the craft of the father.”  
\- Kate Bush – “This Woman’s Work”

“Mmm… I’d like to paint you in your rubies, Emily, and nothing else,” Teddy stroked her fingers with infinite tenderness as they sat side-by-side before their fire that night. The cats Goss and Will, two of the ancient Daffy-cat’s offspring, were curled in their snug cat whorls on the hooked rug at their feet. The Daff himself rarely left the comfort of the chest at the end of their bed, catching sunbeams and moonbeams and dreaming his golden years away.  
Emily blushed at his intimate words. Even though they had been married for almost an entire year, his references to the private and passionate aspects of their marriage still made her feel oddly modest. She was, after all, a Murray… well, half a Murray anyway. As Aunt Elizabeth had been wont to say, one might feel these things, but did they really need to be said? The part of her that was not Murray definitely thought they did. Her cheeks seemed to be Murray.  
“Did you get your chapter finished this morning?” Teddy loved the way her face colored when he spoke to her that way. It was part of the reason why he loved her so much. She had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, and seldom was when they were alone. But, certain odd phrases would make her blush and it was delightfully provocative, especially in this half fire-light.  
Emily took a deep breath and sat up slightly straighter. Goss – short for Gossamer – raised his head from his position on her feet and blinked in question. “I didn’t write this morning,” she said softly. “I had an appointment in town.”  
“Oh?” He looked at her curiously and with surprise. Will – short for Will-o-Wisp – dug his claws into the rug and flopped back down on his feet. Teddy scratched him behind the ears and looked at his wife in question. It was completely unlike her to miss even one second of her preciously guarded ritual of work. She wrote more at night than during the day, but she had mentioned needing to finish something last night, so he had taken the opportunity to go into Charlottetown to pick up more paint and drop in on the Millers.  
Emily nodded, nervously. All of a sudden she had no idea what she was supposed to say. She had never had to write this particular piece of dialogue for any of her characters. What she was about to tell her husband was one of the many ‘unmentionables’ in the Victorian vocabulary. She shook her head in frustration, at herself more than anything. She had spent her whole life rebelling against this antiquated sensibility. “I drove into town to see Dr. Burnley.”  
Teddy nodded. “Oh, how’s Ilse doing?” Then he sat up straighter and looked at her carefully. Ilse was not at her father’s; he had seen her this afternoon. “Emily, what’s wrong?” His mind reeled. What if she were sick?  
Emily smiled at him, slowly, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m perfectly fine.” More than fine. More than perfect. She shut her eyes.  
Teddy’s forehead creased in confusion. No dying person he had ever seen looked like she looked right now. “What, Emily?”  
“Well…” she touched the jewels at her throat, gently. “Maybe you should paint me, paint us, that is.” She looked up at him, her eyes soft and filled with every word she couldn’t say; every thread of joy that her wonderful news had woven around her today.  
Teddy was still bewildered, “What do you mean? Paint us?”  
Emily took both of his large, strong hands in her smaller white ones. She rubbed her thumb over his wedding ring gently. Teddy’s hands were like poetry to her; lines of comfort, strength, understanding, and passion. Every time he touched her she imagined the lines he drew, the colors that would appear on the blank canvas that was their future together. “I think you should paint your daughter and me,” she said quietly.  
“My daughter?” Teddy stared at her and then understood. “Oh God…Oh Emily, really?”  
She nodded and squeezed his hands, slightly, just to reassure him, “Really. I’m pregnant Teddy.”  
This was the answer to every prayer he’d made since the day he married the love of his life. Having Emily was perfection, but sharing a child with her was a dream he hadn’t dared believe would come true. They both wanted this, so much. He pulled her into his arms and buried his head next to hers, “Oh love…” he whispered. Her hair was like silk against his lips, and her skin warm satin. He kissed her gently. “Are you alright?” his hands smoothed the tears on her delicate cheekbones.  
She shook her head and smiled again, “I’m fine…wonderful…perfect…” She knew she was beaming at him ridiculously, and couldn’t figure out why she was crying, but she didn’t care. “I’m so happy!” The tears came faster now and she let her head rest on his shoulder.  
He just held her. This was like a dream to him, a wonderful dream that he daren’t wake from. Everything he had ever wanted in his life was in his arms. “So am I,” he whispered to her. He shut his eyes and the painting came to him: the reflection of her in the mirror that afternoon, rubies at her throat, her glorious black hair around her shoulders and the tears of joy in her eyes. It was more than just a smile he would need to capture this time, it was a fantasy realized.  
The painting took shape in his mind as he held her. They went upstairs and when she was asleep in his arms he left their bed and almost rushed down to his studio to begin it. Emily’s only rival for his attention was his work; his “chromatic mistress” she called it. The blank canvas in front of him was like an invitation, an offer, and a promise. He simply had to fulfill it.  
Emily woke, later that night and looked at her husband. His hands on the pillow were stained with paint, and there was even a smudge of it on his forehead, all the deep alluring red of the rubies she still wore. He was smiling in his sleep. He had needed to paint, Emily had known he would. She wasn’t jealous of his work, far from it. They were the same in that respect. She wanted to write, but the lure of the pillow was too much. She settled back down and watched her husband breathe, slowly and evenly in content slumber. The moonlight shone on his dark hair and lit his olive skin from within. Emily wanted her daughter to look like the love of her life.


	3. "With Arms Wide Open"

January 1914  
“Well I don't know if I'm ready  
To be the man I have to be  
I'll take a breath, I'll take her by my side  
We stand in awe, we've created life.”  
\- Creed – “With Arms Wide Open”

Teddy paced the floor of his living room, scattering felines unceremoniously. He took the drink that Perry offered and held it in his hand, then set it down abruptly, next to the other two that he hadn’t touched in the last four hours. What was taking so long? Why had no one come down to tell them anything? Why was he down here when Emily was upstairs alone? That made no sense to Teddy at all. She only had to go through this because of him. Why on earth couldn’t he be up there to comfort her? He tried to stay, but Dr. Burnley had almost thrown him out of his own bedroom. For the first hour or so there had been a bit of traffic up and down the stairs, but now there was nothing, only vague sounds coming from the general vicinity of their second floor. He looked at Perry in exasperation, “What is taking them so long?”

  
“It’s only been a few hours, Ted,” Perry admonished. He and Ilse had two children already and were expecting twins in a few months. He had been in this position before and knew what Teddy was going through. “Ilse was half a day with Ben. Have a seat and relax!” He patted his friend on the back in consolation.  
“Teddy!” Allan Burnley’s voice echoed down the staircase.  
He sprang forward, upending the coffee table and the cats upon it, who had decided they were safer there than on the floor. Teddy rushed up the stairs in threes and flew in the open door of his bedroom. “Emily?” he demanded.  
Dr. Burnley smiled at him indulgently, “Congratulations, son! You have two beautiful ladies who want to see you!”  
Teddy didn’t hear a word the doctor said to him. He pushed past the nurse and Laura Murray and dropped down beside the bed, “Emily?” he said softly. Her hair was damp against her pale forehead and she was breathing hard. “Emily, are you alright?” He took her hand in his and kissed it softly, where his ring should have been. Her ring had not fit her for the past month.  
Emily smiled up at him triumphantly, “Look, love,” she whispered. She moved the blankets slightly and the tiny bundle in her arms made a disgruntled wail.  
He was stunned. His daughter. There was no mistaking it, she was a beautiful girl, and she was theirs – his and Emily’s. He touched her cheek gently with the tip of his finger and her eyes opened. Deep sapphire eyes stared at him for a moment and he let himself drown in them. He had wanted her to have Emily’s eyes, but now he didn’t care. She was theirs. “Emily, she’s beautiful,” he whispered, squeezing his wife’s hand again.  
Emily sighed to herself in contentment. These past hours had been hard, but only because he wasn’t here with her. That would have made all of the difference in the world. She wanted to write about all of this, but knew that it would have to wait. Their little bird was hungry. “Robin,” she said gently. “Teddy, I want to call her Robin.”  
He nodded in agreement, “What about Elizabeth?”  
“Juliet?” Laura suggested gently.  
“Ilse!” was the retort from the very pregnant Mrs. Miller, who had just arrived.  
Emily nodded, “Robin Elizabeth Juliet Ilse Kent, then.”  
 


	4. "War"

August 1914  
“That until that day  
The dream of lasting peace, world citizenship  
Rule of international morality  
Will remain in but a fleeting illusion  
To be pursued, but never attained  
Now everywhere is war, war.”  
\- Bob Marley – “War”

Emily watched him carefully. From her perch on the hassock at his feet in their living room, she could see the hesitation, the fear, and the doubt in his eyes. It was nothing compared to the stab of agony she just experienced. “I asked you a question!” her voice was low, but none-the-less lethal.

  
“I… I don’t have any other answer for you, Emily.” He looked at her and then shut his eyes, involuntarily. The artist in him saw black against red - form against flame. The man in him, the husband, saw only the pain he had created with his pronouncement.

  
“That’s not good enough!” Emily sprang up and paced the floor violently. Their cats stared at her for a moment and then hopped up on the sideboard in self-defense. Emily looked at them in frustration, wanting to spring away from this herself. She did not wring her hands; that would be far too Victorian. She didn’t cry; that would be her undoing.

  
Teddy sighed in acceptance of her reaction. He had not surprised his wife with this. The news of the assassination was everywhere. The ensuing declaration of war had been the only news for months. Men and boys from Blair Water had flocked to enlist almost immediately. He had not gone then. Emily was still recovering from the birth of their daughter and the war would be over before the Canadians even arrived, so everyone said. Their beautiful, unbelievable daughter was the joy of his life, second only to his incredible wife. He would not, could not leave them for something so fleeting. But now… The war that was supposed to be over in a month had been going on for five, with no sign of its end. He had to go now; he had to do his part.

  
Emily turned to face him. The Murray look on her face was a fearsome thing against the red of the flames and the shadowy wallpaper. “No!” she said distinctly. She wasn’t going to ask him or beg him not to go. She simply would not allow it.

  
This was going to be worse than he had anticipated. “Emily, love, I have to go,” his voice contained the finality, the authority that he seldom voiced.

  
She flinched as if he slapped her, and the world crumbled around her. Their world. She let out the breath she had been holding and sank back down onto the hassock in defeat. Teddy never, well almost never at least, refused her anything. She wanted to remain in Blair Water after their marriage and he had acquiesced easily, travelling for business only when he absolutely had to. He taught her to drive when she wanted to learn, much to the chagrin of every member of the Murray clan. He let her write. For the first time in her life, Emily knew that she would give up even her work to have him give her this. She said nothing, staring at him.  
Teddy raked his hand through his hair wildly, throwing it into complete disarray, just as he had their life. He knew it would be hard to tell her this, but what he hadn’t expected was the pain and feeling of betrayal he saw in her eyes. “I have to go,” he whispered again.

“Sometimes I believe in God as we have always been told to, and sometimes I think it is all a cruel joke. This is not His plan. This is not how it was meant to be.”  
Emily stared at the words. They screamed at her from the page; the first she had written in the week since he’d told her. Was it sacrilegious to write that? Probably. Would God condone this? Should He?

  
She and Teddy had not spoken since that night, nothing more than the polite courtesies necessary to coexist in the same home.

  
“Pass the salt.”

“Hand me that blanket, would you please?”

“It’s the baby. I’ll get her.”

The last had been his sigh as he left their bed only moments earlier. They had lain next to one another for the past six nights, not speaking, not touching, and barely sleeping.

Emily awakened from the clutches of her dream, the same one she had dreamed each night since he told her: noise, deafening, thunderous noise, and wailing screams, rivers of fire and blood. She had barely slept, afraid and unwilling to see the end of it.

Teddy slipped back into their bedroom quietly, their daughter in his arms, fast asleep. Often all she wanted was company, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t like being alone in the night either. He saw his wife at her writing desk, her slender fingers interlaced in front of her eyes. The moon lit her from behind and she glowed with unearthly presence in the dark room. Some women were made for sunlight: bright, cheerful, and eternally young. Emily was moonshine and mists, shadow and glitter: cool, ephemeral, and powerful. He set Robin to rest in the cradle by their bed, then he went to his wife, touching her shoulder gently with the tips of his fingers. “Did you…” he stopped abruptly. Did he dare ask? “Did you see it?” His voice shook when he said the words.

Emily shut her eyes and bowed her head onto her clutched hands. She couldn’t lie to him, not even for this, especially not this. She couldn’t tell him she saw something she had not seen. She couldn’t keep him here with a lie. “No,” she whispered.

He took a deep breath and let his hand rest on her shoulder, the breeze from the window caressing both of them at once. “What do you think that means?” He had to know whether or not she thought he would come home. As skeptical as he was, there was no use denying his wife’s abilities in this respect. Emily could and did see things. She had a particular connection to him that had saved his life and her own twice in the past.

She took a deep breath and then covered his hand with hers. Her wedding band glimmered in the moonlight and she held on tighter. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She laced her fingers through his and held on tightly, hoping that she could hold him here with her forever, knowing she could not.

“The day was abruptly cold. We woke this morning and it was autumn. While we dreamed together the summer passed. How like our life. The idyll is over.”  
Emily shut her diary and took a deep breath. The air that came through her window on this night spoke of fall. The Wind Woman had donned her raiment of bluster and swirling gusts. In the reflection of the window, she could see him on the bed with Robin. She turned to face them and watched without speaking.

Robin gurgled a laugh and collapsed from her sitting position, then grabbed her father’s hand and pulled herself up again. He rewarded her with his own laughter and loud, gentle kisses. An outline of his daughter’s smile graced the page that sat beside him. He would snatch it up and sketch rapidly whenever she let him.

“She needs you,” Emily whispered desperately. She had lost her father when she was twelve. The memories she had of him were more precious than gold to her. She did not want her daughter to grow up without even that. She had not tried to talk him out of it, not after the first night. It was pointless. Her silence had not swayed him, either. The description of her dream had not changed his mind, but it had led him to explain why he felt he needed to go.

That night, in their bed, he held her close to him and told her, “It’s not the war that I want to fight. It’s the senseless loss. Do you remember that old cathedral at Nantes?”

Of course Emily remembered! They had sheltered in the narthex there during a downpour, and watched the sun reappear just as suddenly through the stained-glass windows. Tiny rainbows of light glittered in his eyes when he kissed her. She looked into his eyes now and the rainbows were gone.

“It’s gone, love. Destroyed. Beauty and grace lost for what? A power struggle? That is what has to stop.”

Teddy looked over at her; the boy she had loved forever still lived in his eyes. He was as fearful of this impending horror as he had once been of his mother finding his cherished sketches and paintings. The fear of loss was a legacy for him. “And I need her, I need you.” Emily wasn’t one for guilt or threats – she never had been. She was just speaking her heart, so he did the same.

Emily moved to sit beside him and lay her head on his shoulder, her dark hair touching his cheek like a dove’s wing might. Robin, exhausted with her game, finally curled up next to her father on the flannel quilt. She smiled in her sleep; a contented, careless smile. This child knew nothing of what was to come.

Teddy’s deft fingers completed the half-finished sketch quickly: the curve of her cheek, the soft whisper of eyebrow on her high forehead. Swift, precise strokes revealed the image of his sleeping daughter. He set the paper aside and held Emily. “You’ll have to paint her for me, while I’m away. Your words will have to show me every change, every second I miss, Emily.”


	5. "I Don't Know You Anymore"

“Because I don't know you anymore  
I don't recognize this place  
The picture frames have changed  
And so has your name  
We don't talk much anymore  
We keep running from the pain  
But what I wouldn't give to see your face again.”  
\- Savage Garden – “I Don’t Know You Anymore”

Emily stared at him over the table and then looked back at the sheaf of papers in her hands. “This is the deed to New Moon.” Her name was on it.

He nodded and took a sip of wine. “It’s yours, always was, really. I wanted to make sure that no one will ever be able to take it from you.”

“But Andrew…”

Teddy interrupted, “Andrew left for the front the day before yesterday.” He saw the shock register on his wife’s face. He wouldn’t tell her that he had been just as shocked when Oliver Murray met him in Charlottetown a week ago and begged him to buy the farm from his son. For whatever reason, Andrew had not looked after his situation and would be leaving his family with no source of income when he departed. Oliver Murray was a practical man; a Scotsman, and a Murray to the core. He had made a few inquiries and learned that Frederick Kent was in a position to solve the problem when he couldn’t. He also knew that Teddy would do anything in the world that Emily wanted – and Emily had always wanted New Moon.  
“An inheritance won’t do his family any good,” Teddy settled for a simpler version of the truth. “The money from the sale of New Moon will.” He pushed away the plate of food he had barely touched. In spite of being in the finest restaurant in Toronto, it tasted like sawdust in cream sauce. He only had four more days with her.

Emily stared at him and shook her head in disbelief. This was the Teddy that she did not know. This was a foreign, unreadable, unreachable Teddy, far removed from the artist she loved. This Teddy sat at a desk and turned numbers into sense, bought and sold, and thought nothing of art unless as an investment. This Teddy spoke of money in incomprehensible terms. They had come to Toronto after a trip to New York so Teddy could settle his affairs before leaving. Unlike most others, he was not willing to assume that this conflict would end soon. It was still all just a blur to her, where to this Teddy it was good business and practical preparation. He could not leave Emily with a situation she did not understand, in fact had no knowledge of at all. He had to prepare her in case he never came back. In preparing her, he had included her in all of the dealings with his lawyers, bankers, and accountants. Emily was awestruck by what she learned. She was the wife of a very wealthy man.

She had been to New York before, but not Toronto. The city was breathtaking. She found that even in her state of shock and fear for the future, she could not ignore the beauty of it. From the waves of the almost ocean on the shore, to the haunting and tragic darkness of Grenadier Pond, to this glittering salon in the Queen’s Hotel, it was all beautiful.

Teddy had a house here, as he had told her. It was a large, stately brick affair with carefully manicured lawns and sterile, perfect gardens. It too was beautiful, too beautiful really, too perfect; it did not speak to Emily as she would have liked it to. It was not their home and never could be. “I only bought it for one room,” he shrugged, showing her in after the cab dropped them off upon their arrival. He led her to the back of the house, ignoring the dining room with its enormous crystal chandelier and elegant sitting rooms and parlors on the way.

When she entered, she understood. The Teddy she knew could live here. Light poured in through what seemed like a thousand, tiny, leaded panes. The terra cotta tiles were warm, earthy, and covered in paint. For the sake of the joy this would give her husband, she could live here.

“The morning here is glorious,” Teddy said quietly. “Nothing but light.” He watched as his wife moved toward the windows, drawn into the sunshine like a glorious, gossamer moth. He would remember her like this; across the sea, in a world that light had forsaken, he would look to this memory. He prayed that they might have the chance to make more memories when he returned.

 

Malton was a smallish town north of Toronto. Emily shut her eyes as the October sunshine drifted, warm and reassuring, through the open window of the car. It had been a lovely ride from the city. The farms here were different than those on the island; potatoes were not the prominent crop. Rather, there was a mix of grains. She noted the difference in the color of the soil too; it was not the red that she was used to, but instead a rich black-brown with an obvious humus content. It would be interesting to find out what the gardens were like here. The car itself was the latest in luxury. Teddy had brought his first car to the Island years ago, but this was a far cry from that! A 1914 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost was more than just a method of conveyance. She had wanted to drive it herself, and had been thrilled when he let her take a turn once they were out of the city on a less busy road. The manual gearbox was a lot smoother than the Model T they had at home. Some things were worth it, definitely. Even the three hour drive seemed less cumbersome in this car.

Teddy wanted to bring her here to meet his family. Although she would have rather spent time alone with him, she acquiesced to this visit. These were her in-laws, of a sort. She might as well get this over with. One of the few benefits of being parent-less was that neither of them had to deal with difficulties with the others’ family. Although Teddy had been through the third degree from Aunt Elizabeth, he had also known her all of his life, and she him. There was very little that she had needed to say to him, other than that she really thought Emily should not stray far from home. Emily had made her peace with Aileen Kent years ago. She knew that had Teddy’s mother been alive, she would have approved of their marriage. Meeting his father’s family was another story. This was where the money came from, Teddy told her. She was really unsure how to feel about that. Money was fine. It could do wonderful things. But, it would not keep Teddy from crossing an ocean to fight the war, and it would not change the fact that they would have to be apart from one another. To Emily, it meant absolutely nothing.

They pulled into the driveway of a large and stately green and white home. Emily supposed that it might have been a farmhouse, once upon a time, but it was much more than that now. The Kents were in the lumber business, or so Teddy said. Emily figured that a good portion of Algonquin Park had to have been used to build this monstrosity. She said something to that effect and Teddy laughed.

“They are a bit pretentious,” he warned. “But I think they are really just like everyone else and don’t want to admit it.” He didn’t want to voice his misgivings about his father’s family just yet. Teddy knew Emily well enough to know that she was an excellent judge of character and well able to figure this out on her own. He also wanted her to tell him what she thought once she met them all.

Emily thought about the Murray nickname “The Chosen People”, and decided that it would be good to give these folks a chance.

They got out of the car and Emily took a deep breath. Pine. The glorious scents of pine and lichen filled her nostrils. Whatever else might happen here, it was an incredible spot. Although the sea was nowhere near, there was an open-ness and a sense of space and privacy here. She liked that.

“Frrrr-ederick!”

Emily looked up at the porch of the house and saw an anomaly of time. The woman in front of her belonged in another century, certainly not this one. Dressed in widow’s weeds and a huge bonnet that covered every inch of her hair, the tall and almost ghostly woman was a sooty shadow against the building.

“Frrrr-ederick!” she said again, rolling her r’s in an imitation of a British accent.

At least Emily assumed it was an imitation. As far as she knew, the Kents had been here as long as the Murrays. They were all Canadian to the core.

“Hello Aunt Kate,” he said jovially, stooping slightly to peck the woman on the cheek.

“Frrrr-ederick, you might have tooold us you were coming!” The woman looked at him with a disapproving stare. “We are expecting company today and this is not convenient.”

Teddy nodded in apology, “I’m sorry, Aunt Kate. We were in Toronto and the opportunity just came up at the last minute.” That wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t bothered to call because he knew that his visit would cause too much of a fuss. “Auntie, this is my wife, Emily,” he took her hand and pulled her toward him. “Emily, this is my aunt, Katharine Kent.”

“How do you do, Madame?” Emily nodded, feeling absurdly like she should have curtsied or something.

Katharine sniffed disdainfully, “It is Miss. Where is she from Frederick? Do we know anything of her people?” She spoke as if Emily were not even there.

Teddy put his arm around Emily, hoping that there would be no altercation between these two, “Auntie, I have known Emily and her family my whole life. My mother adored her.” He regretted saying that as soon as it left his lips. He had mentioned his mother once before to Aunt Kate and had met with a diatribe of her faults and foibles. He had not enjoyed that; having only lost his mother a few months before. He didn’t really understand that at all. Aunt Kate was critical of everyone, but she was never as angry as she had appeared when she spoke about his mother.

“In that case, this will not do at all. Aileen Gardiner was no one and nothing.” Katharine rapped her cane on the porch violently, “Matthew!” Her voice was closer to a screech than anything else.

Emily winced. Oh dear! She had not expected this. Looking at it as an outsider, it was rather humorous. The Aunts had not approved of Teddy at first, but that had been years ago. Now for someone to question the Murray pedigree was ridiculously ironic. “Miss Kent, I did not mean any offense at all,” Emily demurred, trying to make the best of an awkward situation. Teddy was mortified beside her, but she had seen this before – albeit from the other side of the conversation.

“Your very birth is an offense Miss… What did you say her name was, Frrr-ederick?” She looked at Teddy in question.

Emily did not give him a chance to intercede; she could deal with this! “It is Mrs. Emily Kent,” she said evenly. “And, I would appreciate it if you would not speak that way about my mother-in-law, may she rest in peace.” She continued, “I am from Prince Edward Island. My family emigrated from Scotland in the late 1700s. We own a farm on the north shore. Archibald Murray was my grandfather.” Better not mention the Starrs, or the Shipleys, she thought.

Katharine sniffed again, “Farmers? Frederick, really…” She was interrupted by the arrival of a younger man on the porch – the erstwhile Matthew, Emily assumed.

“Yes Auntie? Ted!” he beamed when he saw Teddy and held out his hand. “How goes it?”

Teddy sighed with relief, “Very well! Matt this is my wife, Emily. Emily, this is my cousin, Matthew Kent.” He was smiling now.

Matthew smiled at Emily. “Great to meet you! Wife, huh? You never mentioned her last time you were here?” He looked at Teddy with a twinkle in his eye, and then winked at Emily.

Emily was astounded by the resemblance to her husband. They looked very similar, except that Teddy was slightly taller. They were about the same age too. Matthew’s eyes were a copper brown color to Teddy’s dark navy and his voice was completely different; there was none of the slight Island twang in his speech. Otherwise, the family resemblance was eerily striking. Although he seemed likeable enough, there was something about Matthew Kent that she was unsure about. She couldn’t put her finger on it though; whatever it was, it was hidden very well.

Teddy shrugged, “Can’t share everything, even with family!” He smiled at his cousin, “We weren’t married then, just friends. I was in Toronto and thought I would drop in.” He looked sideways at his Aunt and dropped his voice to a whisper, “How is she?” Katharine Kent was staring out at the garden, reciting something from the Bible. Proverbs, if he remembered his Sunday School verses.

Matthew shrugged, “It comes and goes. Did she know who you were?” When Teddy nodded, his cousin smiled slightly, “That’s good. This morning she fed her cat eight times. Of course the cat died when I was five…” he shook his head. “Auntie, Ted’s here with his wife.”

The woman looked at them in consternation, “I told David that I wanted to speak to him – no wonder he’s here. David?” she looked at Teddy in confusion. “David, where have you been?”

Emily took a deep breath and realized what was going on. Katharine Kent was obviously not coherent. She had yet to figure out who Matthew was, exactly. A cousin, Teddy had said. His father was the only boy, but he obviously had a sister. The erstwhile Katharine was looking at Teddy in question now.

“Auntie, it’s Ted, not Uncle David,” Matthew said slowly. “Why don’t you come inside and let Claire make you some tea? Claire is my wife,” he explained briefly, for Emily’s benefit. He took his Aunt’s arm and urged her inside.

“You’ll have to explain this to Mother, David! She was so angry with you!” Katharine looked at Teddy accusingly. “It has been horrible here with you gone!”

Teddy smiled at her, gently, “Well, I’m home now. Shall we go inside?” He offered his arm to his Aunt.

Emily watched as the two men helped the older woman inside. She was not physically infirm, that was obvious. While she had felt uncomfortable with Matthew, Katharine Kent was different. She was hiding something too, but Emily felt no fear or sense of unease when she was with her. She looked around her briefly before following them into the house. The garden was beautiful; someone’s pride and joy, definitely. She would have loved to poke about and try to figure out what was there from the stalks and fall foliage. That was not to be. They entered an expansive foyer, crammed with antiques and paintings. She looked around her curiously. The room was large, with a red velvet wall-covering and dark, dense paneling – obviously expensive and the latest in decoration in some decade or other. Even Aunt Elizabeth had consented to remove the velvet from their dining room some years ago. Although it was dated, there was an odor of lemon polish and the crisp tang of vinegar. It was spotless, much like a museum might be. There was a statue of someone, a British General if Emily’s memory of history was correct. Brock, maybe? The paintings were all of people, but none were Teddy’s work. These were, instead, his ancestors. Emily stood in front a portrait of a rather dour looking man and an absolutely petrified young woman, a man and his lovely bride, she could only assume. She fervently hoped that the poor woman had not had that look on her face for the rest of her life!

“Horrific, isn’t it?” A small voice spoke at her elbow.

Emily turned to look at the speaker, a young boy of some eight or nine years. “Well…” she did not want to say too much, not knowing who this was. He was obviously a Kent; his dark hair and dark eyes proved that much.

“David Kent,” he said quickly, offering his hand. “Junior, of course. I’m Matthew’s son. You must be Ted’s wife?” He looked at her in question.

She nodded quickly, “Emily. Who is this?” She indicated the painting with her hand.

David the younger shrugged, “That’s Abraham Kent and his wife Patricia Brock. They were the ones who built this place. He is the first son of Leon and Hortense, the ones who emigrated from Britain. Patricia is an aunt of the General over there,” he indicated the statue cursorily. “Abraham is my father’s great-grandfather – Ted’s too. He had nine sons, four died in the war with the States.” He looked at Emily quickly, “Are you following?”

Emily nodded, “I’m Scottish. Go on.” This was a fairly simple family history so far. She would only get confused if he started to talk about cousins who were removed or from second or third marriages. Scottish clan regalement was much more complicated than this.

“Well, Ted’s grandfather, Robert, was his firstborn. He had only one son and six daughters: David – senior, Mabel, Bertha, Katharine, Judith, Mary, and Cora, that’s not in order, exactly. Mabel and Mary are dead, Cora lives here because her husband died about ten years ago, Bertha lives in Toronto with her husband – they have three sons: William, Myron, and another David, and Judith lives in New York – she works for a book company but we don’t talk about her, then there’s Auntie Kate,” he stopped for a breath and looked up at Emily. “You from around here?”

“No,” Emily said slowly. “PEI. And what is your story, David-the-Younger?” she shifted her bag to her other hand and looked at the young man more carefully. He was a fine looking young man, much as Teddy had been at that age. And, he was obviously an interesting source of information.

“PEI? That’s on the other side of the world from here! How did you ever end up there?” He looked at her curiously and tilted his head to the side to regard her more closely.

Emily shrugged, “Fate and family, I guess. Who do you belong to?”

The young boy broke into a grin. He obviously loved regaling family history. “Abraham’s second son, Michael is my great-grandfather. His son Frederick – senior, had my dad and my Uncle Clifford. Uncle Clifford lives here too, with his wife Elvira. They have four daughters. I’m the oldest in my family, there’s six of us, all boys.” He looked at Emily, “Even a Scot couldn’t remember all of those names.”

Emily nodded, “You can tell me their names when I see them, okay?” She smiled at the young boy.

“Sure. Auntie Kate’s bonkers, but she’s a lot of fun sometimes. She tells all kinds of good stories and no one ever yells at her about making things up,” he shrugged. “If I were a grown-up no one would yell at me either.”

“You…you like to tell stories?” Emily sensed that this was a kindred spirit.

“Love it! I write them down too. Lots of them. But I don’t tell them out loud much. Mother and father don’t like it when I make things up. I’ll bet they think I’ll end up bonkers like Auntie Kate, but I doubt it. She’s only like that because of the thing that we’re not supposed to talk about,” he looked up guiltily. “Sorry, can’t tell you about that, but it’s an even better story than the ones she tells.”

Emily nodded seriously, “I see. Would you like to show me your stories?” She vividly remembered the need to show people the things she had written as a child. She also knew that the young boy needed to know she was a writer too. “I’ll show you some in return.”

David looked at her in surprise, “Don’t let Aunt Cora hear you say that! She thinks stories are wicked. You’ve no idea how many times I’ve gone without supper because of my stories!” He shook his head, ruefully, “I suppose she won’t starve you, though. She’d have to pay the piper then. Do you really like to write stories?”

“Absolutely,” Emily nodded. She saw Teddy come back into the foyer from wherever he had been. “But perhaps we could do that later? I think I am going to need your help with some names just now?” She smiled across the room at her husband.

 

Lunch with the Kent family was a bit stuffy – even Emily had to admit that. All of the available relations were in attendance for the unexpected return of the (somewhat) prodigal relation. Everyone seemed to treat Teddy with kid gloves, as if they were afraid to offend him. Emily vaguely remembered him telling her that he should really have inherited all of this, but had decided to leave it to his family instead – he had no interest in the lumber business whatsoever.

The meal was made tolerable by the presence of David-the-Younger and his siblings and cousins. The Kent children were a hilarious herd of contradiction. David watched everything that went on and catalogued it (later to be written down, Emily was sure), and the rest of them were capricious and very vocal. They adored Teddy, that was obvious. The venerable Aunt Cora was a bit of a force to be reckoned with, but Emily discovered that the garden was her doing and the relationship developed easily. A simple inquiry about the companion planting of rhododendrons and pine trees and their friendship was firmly established. David-the-Younger sat at her left, providing names and pertinent historical data as necessary, and Teddy sat on her right, conversing with all of his family members easily.

“Psst!” 

Emily looked to her right and then her left as she moved down a hallway toward the ladies’ parlor after their meal had ended.

“Psst! Emily!” David-the-Younger stepped out of the shadows and offered her a small stack of pages. “Where’s yours?”

Emily smiled slightly, “I didn’t bring anything with me, but… Hold on a moment,” she walked into the library where David had been hiding. The collection was massive, filling shelves from floor to ceiling on three walls. The fourth wall was covered with more portraits of the Kent family. These people were certainly not ashamed of their history, that was obvious. There were antiques and artifacts everywhere. Like the hall, everything was spotless, but other than David, Emily found herself wondering if anyone in the family actually read the books in here. She looked at the shelves briefly, found a section containing fiction and spotted it quickly, its fern-green cover as familiar to her as her own reflection. “Here,” she offered the small volume to the young man.

David looked at her curiously, “This is Auntie Kate’s.” He looked down at the title, “She reads it every fall and says it reminds her of the golden age.” He had not read The Moral of the Rose himself. Auntie Kate really liked it though, and she had been the one to recommend Dickens, so this was probably an okay book, too.

Emily smiled slightly, “Tell me what you think and I’ll do the same.”

David’s eyes widened, “You… You’re… I mean…”

Emily shrugged, “We are both storytellers, David. Someone once told me that it’s a guild that some are born to, and some are not. You and I belong to the same family of artists.” She tried to reassure the young man. “Now, read me your story, please?” She would rather this than the dour and boring companionship of the Kent ladies, garden chatter notwithstanding. The interesting and creative Auntie Kate took her supper in her room, apparently, much to Emily’s chagrin. She had been looking forward to her contributions to the conversation.

Teddy found them much later, engrossed in making corrections to David’s story. He watched as Emily paced the room, her hands behind her back and her head bowed as the young man read to her.

“Pedantic, David,” she said. “Dialogue is pedantic. Break it up somehow. Where are they? What does it feel like?”

David looked at her curiously, “It’s just the parlor. I said that before.”

“Of course you did!” Emily snapped. “Now you have to bring the reader there. You have to make them feel like they are in the same room as William and Dorothy. Don’t think they will just understand what you think it looks like.” She raised her head and winked at her husband quickly. “Read it again!”

Teddy listened as the young man read an account of two people discussing a jewel theft. He cleared his throat gently, “Sorry to interrupt.”

David stood up abruptly and looked guiltily at both of them.

Teddy shook his head, “No need, lad, no need. I just have to collect my lovely wife. We must drive back to Toronto tonight.” He smiled gently at the boy, “Send it with her though, she’ll send it back with a mess of red ink and a lot of good advice too.” He looked at his wife indulgently. He had thought the boy talented, but this was not his area of expertise at all. He was more than glad that Emily had made friends with him. The poor soul was rotting here amidst the abrupt and crushing practicality of the Kent family.

Emily looked at David, “Please, if you will? I have some time on the train back to the Island. I’ll send them back with my comments and ideas, if you like?” She hoped that he would trust her that much. The boy did have a knack for phrases, but left out description. She knew that her own work often needed judicious pruning, but this was so bereft of detail that it left a reader wondering too much. For her, it would be an easy fix.

“I… I would be honored,” he handed her the papers. “I’ve never read this before. I’ll read it all tonight!” he vowed firmly, holding up the book. He had also never met a real author before. He had hoped to, but his family did not support his career aspirations and had not given him the opportunity. E.B. Starr was his Auntie’s favorite. She read everything that she could find by her. He had never dreamed that Ted would be married to her.

 

In the car on the way back to Toronto, Emily shook her head, “Quite an inheritance there!” She pulled her coat around her closer. Cars were somewhat faster than horses, and this one was definitely comfortable, but she desperately missed the blankets and furs that would have kept her warm in a buggy. Perhaps someone would invent a heater for an automobile. That would be an investment that she would whole-heartedly support!

Teddy shrugged, “They’re alright. Take some getting used to, I guess. I really never have taken the time. Perhaps I should?” He looked sideways at his wife as he navigated the car on the twisted road over the escarpment. He reached into the back seat of the car and pulled a large Hudson Bay blanket toward her, “Here, it’s freezing.”

Emily took it and tucked it around her feet thankfully, “Do you want to?” She had never given her family much thought, at least as they might be seen by outsiders. They were always just a part of her life. Ever since her father’s death she had been a Murray, no questions asked. Teddy had come to his family much later, but had a much more direct connection. Without his mother around, it was all he had besides her and Robin.

“Not particularly,” he sighed. “I make them nervous. My dad was a bit of a black sheep, I guess. No one will really say much about it except Auntie Kate, but then she’ll start singing hymns, so I never know what to believe.” He knew some of his father’s past from things his mother had said before the end of her life, but really nothing at all that would explain his family.

“What happened to her?” Emily asked, curiously. “David-the-Younger mentioned something that he couldn’t talk about?” She looked over at her husband and memorized his profile against the purple grey sky over the city in the distance. She had almost forgotten what brought them to Ontario and where he was going when they returned to their Island. Almost.

Teddy took a deep breath, “Well, to hear Matthew tell it, that’s the real skeleton in the closet of the family. You up for a bit of a yarn? We’ve an hour on the road at least?”

Emily settled back into her seat to listen and pulled the blanket up further, “Absolutely!” Teddy as a storyteller was always delightful, and she was eager to hear this. He had told fanciful tales around Cousin Jimmy’s fire when they were children – always accompanied by his sketches and caricatures. Now, of an evening, they would sit in front of their fire and he would tell her stories about the places he had been while travelling before their marriage and show her his drawings of the people and curiosities he had seen. More than once, his ideas had inspired her, his characters showing up in her own writing.

“I don’t know all of it – Matthew might be able to tell you more,” he began.

When David Kent graduated from high school he and his sister Katharine had embarked on a journey to England to visit relatives. They had stayed for over a year and were on their way home when bad weather forced them to stop in Prince Edward Island. There, David met Aileen Gardiner for the very first time. Her family was well-to-do, by Island standards, but was not what he knew the Kents would expect for him. David returned to Toronto and set about making his own fortune, while his sister remained on the Island to go to school. He needed to be sure that, regardless of his family’s reaction to his choice of wife, he would be able to provide for his new bride. He returned to the Island three years later, proposed to and married Aileen and returned to Pinecrest with them both. 

But something happened during that trip. Upon her return, Kate Kent was a changed woman. Always vivacious and beautiful, she came back sullen and gaunt. She was never the same. She had been her brother’s champion, approving of his marriage to Aileen from the very beginning. When they returned to Malton she, who might have been her new sister-in-law’s calling card into the family, turned against her. Her vindictive and spiteful comments left both her brother and his new wife surprised and upset. It only got worse. As the first few years of their marriage, and David’s continued business success went on, Kate became less and less connected with the world, living in a past only she knew. Robert Kent sent his daughter to a hospital in Toronto, where she could live and be cared for by doctors who specialized in… well… The Kents just pretended that she no longer existed.

David Kent died in Winnipeg of scarlet fever only two weeks after his father died in Malton. He left everything to his wife, who had already departed with their son to return to the Island of her birth. This had caused an uproar in the Kent family. Everything, absolutely everything was in limbo, resting on the will and whim of a woman who wanted nothing to do with them. When a few years passed without Aileen Kent exercising her power over the Malton connection, they had begun to relax and pretend that she just didn’t exist. The only other legacy that David Kent left behind in Malton was that his sister must be returned home. Anything she needed was to be paid for out of a special account he had set up for her. Kate had lived with the family ever since.

“But what actually happened?” Emily wondered out loud. None of this made sense to her. People didn’t just lose their minds on a trip, nor did they turn against their family.

Teddy shrugged, “No one knows - at least no one alive. My mother might have known, but she never said anything about it. She never even talked about the Kents until right before she died.” He took a deep breath and looked over at his wife, “Emily, if something happens to me, don’t let them put her back in that hospital. She’s harmless, just…”

“Don’t worry,” she covered his hand with her own. She didn’t like to think about anything happening to him. She had avoided it, at all costs. But she did know what ‘places’ like that were like. They were nowhere she would ever want someone she knew to be placed. “She would be welcome at New Moon, and you know that.”

Teddy nodded thankfully, “Good. Sometimes I get the feeling that there might be nothing wrong with her at all. She’s smart, and she’s angry, but I really don’t think she’s mentally ill.” He looked at Emily, “You know how your Cousin Jimmy is?”

Emily looked at him curiously, the comparison would be logical. But, the two were completely different. Even in the short time she had spent with Katharine Kent, she had noticed that her connection with reality – or the lack thereof – was almost deliberate, on her part. It seemed as though she knew when to appear sane, and when not to. Her cousin was not like that at all. Although his “spells” were not frequent, nor were they dangerous at all, he could not control them. “I see where you’re going with this. They are not a thing alike, but yet they would both be outcasts.” She didn’t know enough about mental illness to diagnose this, though.

“Right,” Teddy spoke as he turned into the gates that marked the entrance to the Rosedale area. “I’ve left her enough money to take care of herself, with some help – actually my father did that himself. She needs to get out of that house, though. Without me around, they will put her back in the sanitarium, I know it.” He pulled into their driveway and shut off the car. He looked at his wife, “This is a lot to leave you with, I know.” He didn’t even mention the fact that if he were not to return from the front, Emily would have to deal with all of the Kents and with their obvious interest in Uncle David’s money and power.

Emily took a deep breath, “It’s nothing.” She looked out the window and shook her head, “Without you, it’s nothing.”


	6. "Only the Lonely"

October 1914

_“We live without each other thinking what anyone would do_

_Without me and you_

_It’s like I told you_

_Only the lonely can play.”_

_The Motels – ‘Only the Lonely’_

_“Nights last longest when you are alone.  When love was here to warm my heart and my soul, they flew by.  Teddy left this morning for Valle Cartier.  When will he return?  I must ask ‘when’ and simply never just ask what I fear more than anything!  I cannot say or write those words for fear that it might make them so.  Without him the world seems so grey and flat.  It’s cold, ever so cold.  But I will not cry!  I can’t.  I promised him that I wouldn’t.”_

                Teddy had held her closer than she thought was possible.  And yet, it was not close enough to keep him in her arms instead of leaving.  His hands drew lines on her skin, memorizing every inch over and over again.  In the moments before dawn, exhausted and in agony, they sobbed in each other’s arms.  He whispered to her, “We must cry together, my love.  I can’t bear the thought of you here alone, like this.  Don’t cry again until I can kiss your tears away.”

                Emily vowed to put every ounce of Murray fortitude into keeping that promise.  But even the Murrays had their limitations.

 

                “Damn him!”  Ilse Burnley-Miller threw her teacup at the hearth in anger and frustration.  “Damn him!”  Her eyes were huge and filled with tears.  She wiped at them furiously and tried to marshal her feelings into anger, rather than sadness.  She could deal with anger, but she could not deal with the feeling of distress and desertion that overwhelmed her.

                Emily sat silently beside her friend.  There was nothing that she could really say.  There was nothing that would make this better.  Perry Miller had left for the front with Teddy.  He had not told his wife in advance of his departure.  He hadn’t given Ilse the chance to argue with him or try to dissuade him.  An army of Germans were nothing compared to Ilse in a real rage, and he wanted to fight the enemy, not his wife.  He had a better chance against the Kaiser.

                Ilse stood up and arched her back, unconsciously stroking her full stomach.  “Did you know anything about this?”  She turned to her friend and glared ominously.  It would be so much easier if she had something… someone to be angry with.  She couldn’t be angry with Perry when he wasn’t even here to fight with.

                Emily shook her head, “I had no idea.  Teddy didn’t say anything about it either, if he knew.”  She seriously doubted that he had.  He would have mentioned it to her.  It had been a surprise to see Perry at the train station this morning, but even more of one when he had asked her to tell his wife goodbye for him.  Emily had given him a piece of her mind on that account, but it hadn’t really been worth her breath.  She would have better spent her time holding onto her husband.  Although she hated the thought of the two men who were the closest to her in the world heading off to war, a small part of her was glad that they were going together.  Two of them was better than just Teddy alone.

                Perry Miller was a member of the provincial legislature.  He represented the people of the Blair Water area in the cabinet of the province.  Although the country had gone to war, the primarily conservative cabinet had not supported it whole-heartedly.  The Prussians were the enemy, but the boys were needed at home too.  As a Liberal, Perry’s stand on the war had been deliberately neutral.  He had his eye on something greater than just the legislature and wanted to stay out of the politics that surrounded this issue.  He supported Britain and spoke out against the atrocities that the German army was committing across the ocean, but he was not an overt supporter of taking up arms.  His enlisting was a shock to everyone, especially his wife.

                “And I’m supposed to fly the grand ‘ole flag now, I imagine?”  Ilse fumed and pitched one sugar cube after another at the portrait of King George that hung over her husband’s desk.  How could he sit there, looking so smug, when her husband was fighting a war for him?  “Not bloody likely!”  She hurled the empty sugar bowl at the picture and both smashed into a ruin of glass, wood, and paper on the floor.

                Emily couldn’t help but compare the ruin on the floor to the ruin that this war was making of all of their lives – the whole world, really.  She looked at Ilse and considered something that she had not thought of before, “You can take his place in parliament, you know?” Emily ventured to suggest this only because she knew that her friend was more than capable.  Ilse had virtually won Perry’s campaign for him two years ago.  Her elocution and flair for the dramatic were not wasted on the voters, nor were their four (soon to be five) angelic, adorable, blonde children.  It wasn’t really a far-fetched idea that she would take his place while he was gone.  Naught but a few months ago, they read of a woman in Alberta who had stepped up to her husband’s seat in parliament after he enlisted.  They had laughed at the idea then, never dreaming that the reality would come so close to home.

                Ilse nodded, “You bet your garters I can!  And see that I don’t keep it too!”  She raised her chin in determination.  She would not let this beat her!  She might cry into her pillow tonight, or on Emily’s shoulder tomorrow, but she would not let this get her down.  “If I knew a lawyer I would divorce that patriotic parasite in a minute!”

                Some imp inside of Emily blurted out, “Perry’s a lawyer.”

                Ilse spun around and glared at her, and for several long moments Emily thought wildly about how exactly one might dodge an airborne plate of divinity fudge thrown at very close range.  She didn’t try to make Ilse angry; it was dangerous and unproductive.  However, it sometimes just happened and was rather interesting when it did.

                Then Ilse laughed, suddenly, her anger gone in its typically tempestuous fashion, “It’s hell to be a woman, Emily Starr!  But, I suppose we should be used to it by now.”  She sank down into her chair and grabbed Emily’s teacup and drained the liquid from it.  “Patriotism, indeed!” she sniffed a sound that was almost Murray.


	7. "Changes"

1915 - 1916

_“Still don’t know what I was waitin’ for_

_And my time was runnin’ wild_

_A million dead end streets and_

_Every time I thought I’d got it made_

_It seemed the taste was not so sweet_

_So I turned myself to face me…”_

_David Bowie – Changes_

                Blair Water did change, just as Prince Edward Island, Canada, and the world as a whole did.  There was no helping it.  Things would never be exactly as they had been.  Day after day, week after week, month after month the war continued and change became the only constant for those left behind.

                Life in Blair Water did go on.  There was church every Sunday, even though the new Minister had surprised everyone by enlisting himself.  The Deacons took over on most Sundays and the Shrewsbury preacher, who had tried to enlist himself but couldn’t see past the bible on his lectern, helped out when he could and tried to come by at least once a month.  Even though there were more women than men in the congregation, the services were still stoic and heartily Presbyterian.  If one could not rely on King and Country, one must rely on God!

_“The mud is everywhere, Emily!  It’s so thick and cold and… perhaps angry?  We dig trenches and foxholes one hour and they are filled with mud the next.  It is like the sea, somehow – endless and powerful.  I saw a glorious sight this morning, in spite of it all.  In the mist, over the stench of mud and blood and the roar of the guns, I saw a tiny maple tree struggling through barbed wire.  Beauty will not die forever, my love, even in this awful place.  I must believe in that, and in you and Robin and our home together.  I must believe in the life that lies beyond this.  In love with you always, TK.”_

                Teddy had sketched the tree below his words, his pencil strokes more eloquent that his prose.  As always, Emily read his letters in the evening, in her window in Juliet Murray’s room at New Moon.  It was still her mother’s room, more so now that she returned to it after spending time in her own house.  She and Robin had decided to move back to New Moon.  Well, Emily decided and Robin came along by default.  Their little house was too lonely and the silence was too loud; louder even than the guns in her nightmares.

                Emily folded up the letter and put it in her cupboard beside the fireplace, with all of the others he had sent.  She returned to her desk, lit another candle, and sat down in front of the waiting typewriter.  She took a deep breath and began.

_“Belief in the goodness, the right-ness of our cause must be our strength in these dark days.  Below us, within the earth, there is more than just good and right – there is our future as a nation, as a people.”_

                Emily was glad that at least some things remained the same in this whirlwind.  She was still writing, and she guessed that was a constant for her.  But even her writing had changed.  She found it very difficult to write the humorous and light-hearted stories that were her trademark.  Her third Applegath book, written while she was pregnant with Robin, came out just before Teddy left, and the fourth was already in the hands of her publisher.  Although she could relax a bit on that account, it did not mean that she wasn’t plagued by the need to describe what was going on around her.  She found that her work was more concise, more directed, and often harshly practical.  In essence, it was more like an editorial on the way this war was changing Canadian life.  As such, she decided to send one of her pieces to the Toronto Daily Star.  In a moment of indecision before sending off the MS, Emily made a change to her submission that would reshape her future as a writer dramatically.  In fact, it would change her family forever, in a way she could never have imagined.

                Emily decided that if she submitted the article as E.B. Starr, it would, in all likelihood, be published.  Immediately.  In the Women’s section of the paper.  It would be yet another story from a war wife who wanted her husband to come back.  That was not the perspective that she wanted to convey.  She did miss her husband, dreadfully.  She did want the horror to end and Teddy to return to her.  But, that was not what her writing was about.  She wanted to give Canadians hope.  She wanted to tell the stories that Teddy described to her in his letters and pictures from the front in a way that showed her country what it was really made of.  She wanted everyone to know just what the boys overseas were facing and how they were holding up.  It made all of the miniscule difficulties that those on the home front were experiencing take on a new meaning.

                Emily had not really wanted to change her name when she married.  Although Teddy had not really insisted that she do so, he had assumed that she would.  When the first story she wrote after their marriage was published, he was more than surprised that she still signed it with her two initials and maiden name.  When he asked about it, she had answered him rather sharply, “Sign ‘Frederick Starr’ on your next painting and see how that goes!”  Once she calmed down and they were able to have a rational discussion about it, he realized that she was absolutely correct to keep her professional name.  It did not make sense to change it now, especially when her work was so highly regarded and had even been translated into several different languages.  She was a writer and although she was a married one, it was good business to maintain her following by keeping a consistent name on her work, Teddy could see that.  She remained E.B. Starr on everything she wrote, until the submission to the Star.

                Emily looked at the introductory letter carefully and then ripped it out of her typewriter.  She rolled in another sheet of paper and retyped the letter.  At the bottom, she carefully typed something different.  “Yours truly, E. Kent”.  Her signature, too, was more definite and lacked the usual loops and flowing cross on the ‘t’.  Emily was determined that her work would be published or not, solely on its own merit and not on her reputation.  That, and a little part of her wanted it to be considered as the work of a reporter, not a female reporter.

                Emily’s first article, _Sleeping With Fear_ , was immediately accepted.  Although the title was questionable, her style and skill were not.  The editor made only one small change to her prose, omitting a sentence of description that he deemed too graphic.  The check Emily received in the mail was double anything she had ever made for an article of similar length.  Accompanying it was an offer to write regularly in a bi-line for the paper.  In addition, after her third article was published, the Montreal and Winnipeg papers both wrote with offers of syndication rights.  One article – 612 words and a title – changed Emily’s life as a writer forever.

               

                Ilse Miller did, indeed, step into her husband’s shoes in provincial politics.  (Not literally, she would remind everyone, showing off the latest in her collection of fantastic footwear.)  But, she did sit in the parliament and represent his constituents.  In particular, she took the grievances of women without adequate income and health services to the floor with a zealous energy that even she had not known she possessed before this.  She had never considered herself a feminist, or a suffragette, but she could not understand why the women who were working in the fields and on the docks in her province were not making the same wage that the men they were replacing had been.  There was a greater need for food than ever before.  Companies were getting rich sending supplies overseas to the soldiers – although neither Perry nor Teddy could remember that last time they actually ate a real PEI potato.  If the companies were making a profit, the least they could do would be to pay their workers the same wage they had earned before the war started.  Did it really matter who those workers were?  To Ilse it did not.

                Ilse’s children were more than a handful for her.  Trying to care for them, the huge house in Charlottetown, and sit in political debates from dawn until dusk was too much.  One weekend, she came to visit her father and just decided to have them stay in Blair Water.  Although Allan Burnley was overjoyed to have his grandkids around, having them underfoot was not acceptable.  Ilse had never needed this much attention or been this much work!

                Allan grumbled a coarse word and set yet another cup upright on the table as he attempted to eat his dinner and read a medical journal at the same time.  The twins were not the most coordinated children he had ever encountered – not that he had really spent a lot of time in the company of four year olds.  And the baby, Laura Beth, who was nearly two, still wore diapers!  That was not something he was willing to deal with – Granddad or not!  He glared at Beatrice, his eldest granddaughter, when she slurped her soup and knocked over the salt with her picture book as she turned the page.  Benjamin was alright.  He had some ambition, at least, and he could read and talk sensibly.  You could also leave him alone for two minutes without something getting broken.  “Oh, sod it!” he exclaimed as Rose dumped her bowl of mashed potatoes onto the floor.  He stood up, picked up the phone and called Laura Murray.  This needed to end now!

                So, the Miller brood moved into New Moon.  There were more eyes to watch out for them, and more hands to care for them there.  Allan spent time there every day, without any reservation.  He loved the kids, but he did not need them in his house and under his direct supervision.  Besides, what good was he at raising children?  Look at Ilse, for Heaven’s sake!  She thought she was going to be the Prime Minister.  He obviously had gone a bit astray there, as much as he loved his daughter.  Maybe he should have quashed her delusions of grandeur sooner?  Oh well, being raised by a Murray was a helluva lot better than being raised by a Mitchell.  There was no way he would let Cousin Ida take over the moral development of anyone under his care.

 

                Robin Kent, at the tender age of two, scrambled up onto the twirling seat at the New Moon piano.  Unlike her cousins, the Millers (who weren’t really cousins in the direct sense of the word, but might as well be), she did not spin about until she got dizzy and then promptly fall down immediately upon standing.  Robin instead, lifted the lid of the “Yano”, as she called it, and cautiously played Middle C.  Then she played the octave above.  Then the one below.  She looked up at her Aunt Laura, who had come in to rescue her beloved instrument and potentially administer first aid to its attacker, and said simply, “Same.”

                Laura nodded her head, curiously, “Yes.  They are the same.  C.  They are all Cs, Robin.”

                Robin played the notes again, slowly.  “C,” she said.  “ABC.”  She moved her hands and played the three notes one after the other.  She looked up at her Aunt for confirmation.

                Laura was amazed.  She had never taught Robin this, and no one else at New Moon even touched the piano, except to dust it.  She decided that perhaps Robin should learn to play this instrument.  After all, both Juliet and her mother had been excellent piano players.  Laura enjoyed playing, but had never been as talented as her stepmother (who had taught her), or her younger sister, who just seemed to have the same knack for this as she had for everything.  Laura sat down and showed her grand-niece a five finger pattern, naming the notes as she went along.

                Robin smiled, the entire time.

 

_“Three things happened today, my love.”_  Emily wrote in a letter to her husband.

_Ilse had a filibuster in parliament.  Six hours of poetry and prose to avoid a vote that she didn’t want.  Some nonsense about women voting again…  I don’t pay much attention to that.  You know that I value independence as much as the next person, but I really can’t see the point in voting for people you don’t really know.  How are you sure they are who they say they are?  So many of our politicians support this war from the comfortable chairs in their office.  How is that supporting or even understanding?  I can’t see any point in wanting to vote for any of them!  Anyway, Ilse recited ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’ and made three MPPs cry.  I’d vote to see that!_

_Secondly, my new book arrived – enclosed.  In spite of all the hustle and bustle around here, I finally finished the edits for it.  Not the best of the series, certainly.  A tad too romantic, I think.  Peg needs to buck up in the next one or I shall abandon her to a stodgy spinsterhood!  Regardless, I hope it will give you a bit of a distraction from your world there and bring you home for a bit, at least in spirit.   Peg could be as romantic as she liked if it would bring you home for real._

_Last (but in no way least) our wee lass sat at the piano and played ‘O God Our Help in Ages Past.’  Mind you, I don’t know how she learned to do it, but she did it.  Aunt Laura must have helped her, I suppose.  Still, at two?  I believe we’ve an artist on our hands, my love.  Good thing her parents can understand her._

_Be well, my darling.  You know that I would give the world to have you here with me.  My next letter will be a love letter, but tonight I sit here and watch our daughter sleep.  She is a marvel – our marvel.  If you could only see her now, my love!  She is the best of both you and I, and yet totally and completely her own.  Keep that in your heart, and know that you are a part of both of us.  Robin’s kisses are enclosed (that is real maple syrup on the bottom), as is my love always.  EK.”_

_  
_


	8. "Brain Damage"

_“The lunatic is in my head_  
The lunatic is in my head  
You raise the blade, you make the change  
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane  
You lock the door  
And throw away the key  
There's someone in my head but it's not me.”

_\- Pink Floyd – “Brain Damage”_

                “Emily!  Thank Goodness!” Aunt Laura was pale with worry and anxiety when she met Emily in the driveway of New Moon on a delicious summer afternoon.  The warm breeze stirred the pines slightly, and you could smell the sea everywhere.  It was the kind of afternoon that was made for dreams and delight.

                Emily helped her daughter out of the car.  They had spent the day picnicking at the beach.  What on earth could have gone so horribly wrong between 9:00 a.m. and mid-afternoon?  Aunt Laura’s face was not the ashen and horrified of truly bad news, so this must be something domestic.  “What is it Aunt Laura?”  She stepped into the hallway and took off her hat, setting the picnic basket on the floor.  She scrutinized her reflection in the hall mirror; her nose had escaped sunburn, thank heavens!

                “You… You have a visitor…” Aunt Laura cleared her throat, “In the parlor, I…” her voice dropped to a whisper.  “I didn’t know what else to do with her!”

                A visitor?  Emily stepped into the parlor and blinked.  Daffy, Goss, and Will were clamoring for space on the lap of a rather beautiful woman.  She was encouraging their affections, rather than trying to fend them off, as most might.  Her black-brown hair was arranged in a low knot at the nape of her neck and diamonds swung in her ears.  Although she wore black, she did not look like she was in mourning.  She was slender and elegant, and not all that old, “Can I help you?” Emily said quietly.

                Her eyes swung up from the cats to look at Emily, “You already have, girl!”

                “Aunt Kate?” Emily was stunned.  Katharine Kent?  Here?  The woman in front of her was in such sharp contrast to the woman she met at Pinecrest almost two years ago that she almost couldn’t believe it was her.  Gone was the bonnet, gone were the widow’s weeds.  Although the dress she wore was not particularly fashionable, it fit her well and she wore it with an unconcerned elegance.  Emily had been corresponding with David-the-Younger regularly and there had been a few notes from Kate as well.

The first one had been a short sentence on the back of one of her nephew’s letters – “Do you like cats?  KK”

                Emily had written back to her with descriptions of her three felines and the litter of new additions in the barn.  Other notes had followed, conversational and superficial; nothing that might suggest Katharine wanted to travel to the Island, or even was able to do so.  Emily made sure that she received a small monthly allowance.  After meeting her and discussing her condition with Teddy, they had decided that she should have a little bit of independence.  What would it hurt to send her a few dollars?  Her letters gave her the opportunity to do that.  But nothing in any of them had indicated that a visit was in the offing.

                “Is that a child or an elf?” Kate demanded, looking pointedly at Robin.

                Before Emily could respond, Robin, now some two and a half years old, spoke up for herself, “I’m a Robin.  I’m a Kent and a Murray too.  Who’re you?”

                Kate laughed, “That you are!  Glad you’re not raising her to be seen and not heard!  I’m your Aunt Katie, and no, I won’t make you kiss me.”  She looked up at Emily, “Always hated that as a child, myself – withered old bats with lips like shriveled prunes,” she grimaced at the thought.

                Robin was relieved, “Good.  Can I play, mum?”  She looked up at her mother.

                Emily nodded, absently.  “Aunt Kate, I didn’t expect you.  Did you tell me you were coming?”

                Kate laughed, somewhat merrily, “Hell no, girl!  Hell no!”  She looked over at Robin, who was playing scales with both hands.  “She’s good.  So was my mother.  Anyway, no, I didn’t tell you.  Didn’t know myself until six days ago.  For the first time in decades they left me alone, so I decided to escape.  Do you know that it has been more than thirty years since I’ve been on a train?  First time on my own too – rather liberating, that.  Stop hiding behind the door frame!”  She looked behind Emily at the figure of Aunt Laura.  “Gracious sakes, are you made of blanc-mange?”

                Laura Murray looked at her niece for help, “Emily, shall I make tea?”

                “Fine, that will be fine.  Aunt Laura, this is Katharine Kent, Teddy’s aunt from Malton.”  She looked at Aunt Kate, “This is my aunt Laura Murray.”  She urged her timid relation forward, hoping that this would not end badly.

                Kate nodded, “We’ve met.  I won’t bite!  Except with words, that is.  You must excuse me, I’ve been insane for a long time, don’t know quite how to behave in polite society.  Scared the pants off the train conductor!”  She shook her head when Laura blushed.  “Not literally!  For heaven’s sake Laura, relax, I’m family!”  She turned her attention to the cats again, “Daffy, I don’t care who died and left you here to play God.  You will not dig your claws into my legs like that!”  She detached the elderly cat and then held him to her face.  “Mind me now!  No tuna for you if you don’t!”  Then she looked at Emily.  “Well, aren’t you going to be predictable and go call Matthew or one of the others?”

                Emily, who had been debating whether or not to do just that shook her head, making the decision, “No, why would I do that?  They need to squirm a bit, don’t you think?”  She grinned at Kate, suddenly.  Teddy had been absolutely correct.  There was nothing at all wrong with Katharine Kent.  She had been play-acting all these years.  The why of it was something that Emily intended to find out.

                “Ha!” Kate slapped her leg, abruptly and impolitely dislodging The Daff and his offspring.  “That’s it, girl!  I knew I liked you.  I rather thought I might when you didn’t let me walk all over you that day at Pinecrest.  But you never know with women, Aileen used to be alright, then…” she shook her head.  “Where’s my boy?”

                Emily looked up at her, stricken suddenly.  “He’s…”  Had no one told her?  Had Teddy not even told her?

                Kate’s eyes turned vacant, all of a sudden.

                “No, no…” Emily shook herself.  “He’s in France.  I had a letter from him yesterday.  He’s fine.”

                “Fine, you say?  He’s fighting in that damned war.  He’s not fine, girl!  Not by a long shot.  You meant to say that he’s alive.  For a writer I would have expected a better choice of words.”  She stood up then and walked over to Emily, “I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid.  No wonder they were all shut up in the parlor after his last visit.  There’s nothing those vultures would like more than to see David’s boy never cross the ocean back.”  She shook her head resignedly, “You’d be in for a fight then, that’s for sure.  Did he tell you everything?”

                “Everything?” Emily wrinkled her forehead in confusion.  Kate’s words had sent a chill down her spine.

                “Ah, Laura!  Tea, excellent!  Set it on the table and then find the whiskey.”  She looked at Emily, “David-the-Younger said you were a Scot.  Buck up girl, and plan your strategy.  You need inspiration and a bit of courage, false or otherwise.  Why do you think I’m here?”

                Emily nodded, mutely, and sat down with Katharine Kent.  She really had no idea what had brought Katharine Kent here, but she sensed she was about to hear the whole history of the Kent family, good and bad.  When Aunt Laura brought out a rather dusty bottle from what had been Archibald Murray’s private cabinet, the tale began.  Laura Murray had no idea who this really was, or why she was here, but in spite of her request for whiskey, she seemed like a woman who knew what was what.  A lot like Elizabeth, really.  Laura sat down on a small chair in the corner to listen to what was said.

                “So,” said Kate, settling comfortably into Archibald Murray’s burgundy velvet wing chair.  “What do you know about my brother?”  She took a sip of tea, grimaced, and then took a large slug out of her whiskey glass and nodded appreciatively, “Love the Scots!”

                Emily took a deep breath, “Not much.  Teddy’s mother rarely spoke of him.  She told Teddy a few things before she died, but not much; just enough that he knew to come to Malton to settle things.  It was a bit of a surprise for him, I think.”  She took a sip of her Scotch as well.

                Kate nodded, “I remember the day he came to Pinecrest.  I thought it was David, returned from the hereafter!  He looks so much like his father, it frightens me sometimes.  Oh, but the wolves were knocked silly that day!  My-oh-my!” Kate chuckled amiably at the memory of her sister and cousins running about like the King himself had arrived.  And rightly so!  Without David’s son’s approval, they would all be out in the cold.  “I’ll never forget their faces when he went upstairs to wash for dinner.  I could’ve laughed out loud – actually I probably did, then mumbled something about my cat.  Always loved cats, but my father hated them.  Anyway, I am not really crazy, in case you were wondering.  I was a bit off for a while after… well… I’ll get to that bit later…  Would’ve loved a career on the stage, but I’m a Kent.  So, I’ve just been pretending all these years.  It lets me hear things that I probably shouldn’t.  Thanks to David, I got out of that ‘hospital’ – that was the only good thing that happened when he died.  You do learn a lot about being crackers when you are surrounded by them.  The Provincial Lunatic Asylum is no place to go if you want to stay sane, that’s for certain!  But, you see humanity in its purest form, certainly.  There are a thousand stories in there for you E.B. Starr!”  She shook her head and took another sip of her scotch.  “Laura, you can come out of the corner and sit on the sofa if you like?” she looked behind Emily and motioned to Aunt Laura.

                Aunt Laura moved silently to the sofa and sat primly beside her niece.  So far, Katharine Kent had not been anything more than, well… different.  She hated to even think it, it sounded too much like her father, but the thought crossed her mind that people from Ontario really were not the same as everyone else.

                “Anyway, they knew about Frederick – or Teddy, as you call him – but they never really thought he would show up.  His mother took him away when he was just a young tot – no older than Robin there, if that.  Aileen never had enough moxie to stand up to them and they just assumed her son would be a doormat too.  She wasn’t strong enough to cope with them without David – even with him she couldn’t get past some of their airs.  Aileen had to leave Malton; she couldn’t let them have her son too.  Even though it seems foolish to you, she was right to do it.  It’s an awful thing to be thrown into my family, Emily, an awful thing!  You married one, but he is more like his father than the rest of them, and he was never brought up like they were, thank God and Gardiner!  David was always different.”  She swallowed the rest of her whiskey and then curled her legs up under her like a young girl might.  “David and I are twins.  I was nine minutes older than he was, actually, but my father would never admit that.  We were the first-born of the first-born.  The rest of the girls were just attempts to have more boys.  Father never really cared for them, but he did put up with me because of David.  I don’t bother to give them the time of day – never did.  Judith is okay, but she’s the black sheep.  You’d like her.”  Kate unhooked her earrings and tossed them onto the table beside her teacup nonchalantly.

                “David and I were inseparable as children, until they sent him away to Upper Canada College to get an education.  I missed him so much, and I really wanted to have that education too, but it wasn’t appropriate for girls!  I wanted to go with him, so one time I cut my hair and put on some of David’s clothes and hitched a ride to Toronto.  He was in a dormitory with seventeen other young boys, so it was not easy to hide.”  She shook her head ruefully, “My father was a force to be reckoned with, at the best of times.  That day, he was fearsome!”  She looked at Laura when she saw her flinch, “Our fathers didn’t spare the rod, eh?”

                Laura nodded slightly, “I always tried to avoid it, when I could.”

                “You probably succeeded!” Kate shrugged.  “Hardest part was riding home in the wagon.  I swear my father hit every bump on the road between Toronto and Malton on purpose!  But, there was nothing to be done about it.  David was in Toronto and I was hours away.  He came home at Christmas and for holidays, but it was never really the same.”  She shook her head in defeat.  “It was a man’s world then; women had very little choice.  Fortunately, David wasn’t like Father, so when the time came for him to have a graduation tour, he demanded that Father let me go along.  It wasn’t that much of a hard sell – Father was itching to be rid of me; get me married off.  He figured the London Season would be the easiest way to do that and arranged for us to stay with the British Connection.”  She looked up at Emily and smiled, “We are the poor relations, really, although this batch wouldn’t know it.  We went to stay with one of the descendants of the original Duke of Kent – some sort of cousin.  They were still peers, but not royalty – not quite.”

                Emily watched Katharine Kent with interest.  Divested of her massive bonnet and unflattering clothing, this was an exceptionally beautiful woman.  Her hands were elegant and expressive, but did not overemphasize or distract from her words.  She wore only one ring, a signet on her right middle finger.  She was nimble and fit – the cane had obviously been a ruse too.  Emily tried to figure out how old she might be.

                Kate caught her look, “What?  Is my hair on fire?”  She smiled at Emily, “What is it that you want to know?”

                “How old are you Aunt Kate?” Emily said quietly.

                “Well, well!  Bring out the big guns!  Fifty-six, if you must know.  Aileen was a bit younger than us.  She’d be maybe fifty-two or so, I guess.  Why do you ask?”  She looked over at Robin, appreciatively.  “She’s two?  Damn fine hands at a piano!”  She turned back to Emily.

                Emily found herself becoming used to Katharine’s vacillation from one topic to another.  She simply said what she thought, at whatever time she thought it.  Such freedom was really unheard of, even now, at least among sane society.  How liberating!  “You look much younger than when I first saw you.”

                Kate shrugged, “Those clothes are ridiculous!  I’m sure they belonged to a dead servant, but it doesn’t really matter at Pinecrest, they suit the role.  I love the bonnet though.  Whoever created that thing had far too much black serge and no sense of size at all!  A draft horse could wear it.  I wore this dress to a funeral a few years ago – Cora’s husband, I think.  They don’t indulge me with new things very often, but can’t have me looking the part of the village idiot in public.  It was about the only thing I had that was even remotely wearable.”  She picked up the earrings she had removed earlier, “Now these I bought for myself in Paris when David and I went there.  Nice to wear them again, if a bit vain.  Your wee lass can have them when I die.”  She tossed them back onto the tea tray in dismissal.

                David and Katharine Kent had toured England and the continent.  Eighteen months of travel and visiting.  They took part in the London Season of 1878 and David was one of the most eligible bachelors there.  Although he collected calling cards by the handful, no one really took his fancy.  Katharine was taller than most of the men, and none of them met her standards – ergo, they thought a woman should be wedded, bedded, and bred, then ignored while the mistress got all of the attention.  The Kent twins set sail for home in 1879 still happily single and enjoyed the trip immensely.

                “Ocean travel is a fearsome thing,” Kate said.  “I don’t know that I will ever do it again, even though I have always had a hankering for Africa.  Maybe someday those flying machines will take us across the ocean in hours instead of days!” she chuckled to herself.  “Now there’s the lunatic in me talking!  We limped into Charlottetown harbor with half a ship and half a crew, most had died of exposure or injury on the way.  David and I were the only passengers, so we were sent to the harbormaster.  Enter into the tale the lovely Aileen Gardiner!”  Kate looked back into her memory of that night.  Aileen had been beautiful then, in that ephemeral and crystalline way of hers.  Tiny and slight, subtle and gentle, she had been the perfect foil for David’s overt attractiveness and congeniality.  “Aileen was the harbormaster’s daughter.  We were just past twenty and she was sixteen.  I thought David was stricken with an apoplexy when he saw her the first time, standing in the doorway of her house with her long white nightgown and holding a lamp aloft.”  Kate shook her head, “Rather prophetic, don’t you think?”

                Emily remembered that the accident that had left Teddy’s mother so horribly disfigured had been the result of her dropping a lamp on her dress.  “I always felt sorry for Mrs. Kent.  She seemed so sad and tragic, but beautiful at the same time.”

                Kate nodded at her niece, “Mmm… that she was.  I should have been a better friend to her, really I should have.  Here’s the ‘why’ you – and everyone else – has always wanted to know.  Why did Katie Kent go insane?”  She shifted in the chair and dropped her chin onto her hand, “His name was Michael… Michael Gardiner.  He was Aileen’s father, the Harbormaster.  He met us at the boat, but I didn’t think much of it until later.  David was smitten on Aileen from the beginning; it was silly really, the way he acted over her!  He bought her things, took her on carriage rides… they must’ve seen the whole Island during those two months,” she smiled at the memory.  “But he was happy.  Aileen had never wanted for anything in her life, save a mother.  But David brought her a different sort of happiness than she had before.  Her father was well off, but he also spent most of his time working.  Michael was a good man Emily, don’t think it was anything he did or said that made me decide to be the way I am… was… pretended to be.”  She sighed, “I loved going down to the docks to see the boats come in.  You could stand there and imagine all of the wonderful places they had been and all of the glorious treasures that might be in their holds.  You could travel the world without moving a muscle!”

                Her eyes had the faraway look that Emily had seen before, except this time she knew what she was seeing.  Katharine Kent’s past wasn’t such an awful secret after all, merely a love affair gone awry, or some such.

                “I was down at the harbor in my spot: right between the lobster pots and the bales of sailcloth there was a bit of a deck built into the dock.  I used to go there to sit every morning.  David and Aileen were usually off on some romantic escapade or other every day, so it made sense for me to do as I pleased.  I had always liked my own company best anyway, unless I had the option of David’s.”  Kate looked up at her audience, “There are some places a lady shouldn’t go.  There are some things that a young girl should be told not to do.  Sitting alone on a port dock is one of them, but I never knew it until it was too late.  I didn’t hear them come up behind me, too busy dreaming, I guess.  All of a sudden, I was pulled off my seat and down the stairs.  Someone, probably several someones, hit me.  I remember so little…” she shook her head.  “If anything, I suppose I was lucky not to have been killed.  They dumped me beside the wharf.  If Michael hadn’t been doing his job I probably would have died there.  But I didn’t.  He found me and carried me home.”

 

                Michael Gardiner paced the kitchen, back and forth, to and fro.  The doctor was still upstairs with her.  He hadn’t even known she was on the docks, or he would have sent her home.  The days when the ships came in from the Indies were interesting, but dangerous.  A beautiful girl like her was just a target.  He turned abruptly when he heard the front door open and his daughter’s laughter.  Finally they were back.  He strode into the hallway, “Kent!” he barked.  “Come into my office now!”  He turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring his daughter’s frightened eyes.  No doubt she thought this had something to do with her, but that wasn’t important right now.

                “Sir, Aileen and I were only…” David began, but was cut off.

                “Your sister’s been hurt,” he said bluntly.  That had to be the understatement of his life.  Half killed was closer.  “The doctor is upstairs with her now.”

                David tried to bolt out of the room to go to his sister, but was stopped by Michael’s voice, “Sit down!”  He waited until the younger man took his seat, uneasily.  “She was down on the docks this morning.  Some men from one of the ships…” he stopped, abruptly.  “She was badly hurt, son.”  He didn’t say more.  He had seen the bruises that were just beginning to appear, the blood, the torn clothing.  He did not need to relive it.  Katie was like a breath of fresh air to him, or she had been.  Some might say she was far too headstrong for a woman, but he didn’t think so.  Some might say she was far too young for him, but he knew that was untrue.

 

                “I got better, slowly,” Kate sighed.  The bruises had healed and the cuts had stopped bleeding, but the sailors left behind more than that.  “Michael was there every minute.  He never looked at me the way others did, or the way I thought they did.  When David had to go back to Toronto, he couldn’t very well take me with him, not like that!”  She shrugged, “He knew Father as well as I did, that would be like a death sentence for me, and for Michael.  Michael wanted to marry me right after, as soon as I found out.  He told me he would look after me and the baby and that it didn’t matter to him at all.  I wouldn’t, though.  I couldn’t.  He didn’t need to be tied to that kind of baggage.”

                “I’m sorry,” Laura said softly.

                Kate shrugged, “Nothing to be sorry about.  You didn’t do it.  I suppose I am lucky that I don’t really remember how awful it was, but I sort of wish I knew who.  I always wondered that, but there’s a mystery that no one will ever solve.  David left for Toronto to go and make his fortune, literally.  He knew that Father would not approve of Aileen, so he wanted to make sure that all would be well for them independent of the Kent family.  He did it too, very well.  I stayed behind, ostensibly to attend Queen’s College, but I was never enrolled.  The money father sent for that I used to take care of myself.  I wanted to get a room on my own, but Michael wouldn’t hear of it.  Even if I wouldn’t marry him, he wouldn’t have me living alone.  I could be his daughter’s friend and companion, I could stay under his roof and no one would think anything else.  No one knew of the Kents here, it wasn’t a problem that my father would ever hear of.”  Kate stood up and went over to the piano, where Robin was playing Bach.  “Robin-bird, watch your thumbs crossing over,” she said gently, touching the child’s hair.

                Robin smiled up at her and began again.

                Kate walked away from the piano and stood in front of a picture of the sea.  It was a watercolor that Teddy had painted years ago, when he was just a young boy.  Cousin Jimmy had it framed and hung it up without Aunt Elizabeth’s approval, but it remained.  She touched the paint gently, “Michael used to paint.  He would stand at the window in the mornings and the sky would just fall onto his canvas.  So delicate, so sensitive…” she took a deep breath.  “That’s where your Teddy gets it from, if you ever wondered.  His grandfather might have been an artist too.”  She looked back at Emily, the tears in her eyes brightening them.

                Emily stood and took her hand, “Aunt Kate?”  She offered a handkerchief gently.

                Kate took it without saying anything.  The pithy retorts were gone.  She was no longer the mad aunt, rather just Katie Kent again, for the first time in more than thirty years.  “The baby didn’t survive.  It was hard, that.  Even though I should have been glad about that, I wasn’t.  Michael… he cared so much for me, Emily.  He was so kind, so wonderful.  At first I think Aileen was jealous, she had been the only person in her father’s life forever, but then she realized that she had David and her father must deserve the same happiness.  That made it okay for her to like me.”  Kate turned to Laura, “This is a bit more than you expected, hmm?”

                Laura nodded, but then spoke gently, “I remember the Harbormaster.  He was very kind.  I had no idea that Aileen Kent was his daughter.  She was nothing but a little girl then.”

                Kate tilted her head sideways to look at Laura, “You’d be a bit older than I?”

                Laura nodded, “Sixty-six this year.  My sister Juliet, Emily’s mother, was much younger.”

                “Ahh…” Kate smiled gently, “You’ll weave me that yarn later, I would assume Miss Emily?”

                Emily nodded, but secretly wished that Kate would continue.  There was much more to this.

                “He married me.  He finally convinced me that it was the right thing to do.  I suppose I ought to have jumped at the chance, but it was never in me to jump at anything.  Oh Emily,” she said softly, sinking down into a chair by the window, “I was so happy.  I have never been that happy before, or since.  It’s like waves, isn’t it?  The joy you feel?”

                Emily nodded.  She knew the feeling exactly.

                “Your Teddy has Michael’s eyes.  Those were never in the Kent family.  I remember what it was like to look into those eyes and know what they felt.”  She dropped her head to rest her chin on her chest.  “He died eight months after we were married, and two months before his son was born.”  Her voice was a whisper.

                Emily looked at her in question, “You have a son?”  Now this was a wrinkle she had not expected.

                “Had,” Katharine whispered.  “Had.  For three minutes I had a son, Emily.  I had Michael back in my arms again.”  She was silent for a long time.

                Emily wanted to go to her to offer some sort of comfort, but knew it would not be welcome.  This was a private grief.  She looked at Teddy’s aunt with a new respect; this was a very strong woman.

                “Aileen knew, of course.  David didn’t.  When he came back to marry Aileen, I was…” she looked up at Emily and Aunt Laura, “It was hard.  It was so hard to see them happy when I had just lost everything in the world that mattered to me.  That and David wasn’t mine anymore either.  There’s a thing with twins, I guess,” she looked thoughtful.  “Some of the new psychology suggests that the bond is transcendent, something intangible.  I believe that.  David and I were like that.  He used to tell me things he would never tell anyone else, even Aileen.  I think that bothered her, especially when we came back to Pinecrest.”

                Emily nodded, “She said something to that effect once.”

                Aunt Laura shook her head, “How… how did they… I’m sorry…”

                “No, no,” Kate said, gently for the first time, her anger was gone now.  “It’s alright.  I thought about this a lot before coming here; it’s a long train ride, you know.  I’ve never told anyone this.  My family has no idea.  Aileen knew it all, but she wouldn’t say a word.  David only knew about Michael, but not that we were married.  He was a bit too much of a Kent to have allowed that to go on without being there for it.”  She stood up again and went over to the bookshelf.  She ran her fingers over the volumes slowly, until she found the one she was looking for.  She pulled the book out and blew the dust from it, then opened it and flipped through the pages until she found it.  “Here you are.”  She passed the book to Emily.

                Emily looked at the hand-drawn picture of the harbor.  Several buildings were destroyed and the caption read “The Great Fire of 1882”.  “Michael, your husband, he was killed in the fire?”

                “No,” Kate said.  “No, he drew that.  He was exhausted that night, afterwards, but he got up so early in the morning to go and look for more people trapped in the buildings and under the dock.”  She took a deep breath.

 

                “Michael?  Michael, where are you going?” Katie shook the sleep from her head reluctantly.  He had only come to bed a few scant hours earlier, smelling of smoke and covered with grime.  But he was alive.

                “Hush, Katie-cat.  Go back to sleep.  I’ll be back in time for breakfast,” he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand, and then rose to dress.  “I thought of something, that’s all.”

                Katie fell back onto the pillow and watched her husband pull on his shirt.  Shirts like that did him justice, she thought, absently.  His forearms were massive and tan, and looked as wonderful as they were in the white linen he wore every day.  “Think of something else and come back to bed,” she said playfully, smiling at him in the early morning light.

                He turned and shot her one of the looks she loved so much.  “I can’t Kat.  I have to check on something.  I won’t be long, I promise.”  He pulled the suspenders over his shoulder and stood up.  “There’s one place we didn’t look.”

                Katie sat up again, this time fully awake, “Where?  I thought you looked everywhere last night.”  She stretched like the cat he often likened her to and rubbed her full stomach.  The fire broke out at lunchtime the day before.  Michael and everyone in the harbor village had spent the entire day fighting it.  Katie, in her present condition, took part by keeping the fire going and a pot of chowder and another of coffee at the ready for everyone who wanted or needed it.  Michael had sketched the scene once the fire went out, more as a guide to where they should search, but the newspaper man from Charlottetown had asked for it to be put in the paper.  In spite of the occasion, Michael had been so proud of that.  It was the first of his work to be published.

                He shook his head and picked up the sketch, “Right here,” his long, slender finger pointed to a small, overturned boat underneath the half-ruined jetty.  “Might be that someone is under there.  I couldn’t have seen anything in the dark anyway.  I’m going to grab Kel Wilson and see what we can see at light.  I’ll see you for breakfast me lad-and-lass,” he kissed her gently, touched her stomach, and left the room.

 

                “That was the last time I saw him alive,” she said, roughly, letting the words escape like a held breath, slowly, painfully.  “He went under twice, they told me.  Said he saw something.  He didn’t come up the third time.”  She turned sharply, “Why did he have to be a damn hero?  Why couldn’t he let it just be as it was?  They were dead already, he couldn’t have…” she stopped and sobbed quietly.

                This time Emily went to her, “Oh God, Aunt Kate, I am so sorry.”  She put her arms around the other woman and held her as she cried.  She knew this was the first, and probably the only time in three decades that this woman had let this out.  No wonder she wanted to escape reality!

                Kate hugged Emily gently and then set her away, “When I buried him I buried my heart, Emily.  Don’t think I don’t know what you’re going through; not knowing whether or not that boy will come home to you.  I do know, and it’s hard.  Damn hard.  Men couldn’t do it, that’s for sure!  That’s why they go and blow each other up and make us sit and wait for the bad news.  I hope you never hear the news I heard.  I hope he walks through that door, grabs you into his arms and makes love to you like there’s no tomorrow,” she spoke vehemently.  “If he doesn’t, I’ll show him the business end of a switch!”  She took a deep breath and then let it out, slowly, “Our son died right after he was born.  The cord caught around his neck and there was nothing they could do.  But, I held him and I felt him breathe, Emily.  I held him and felt him stop breathing too.  I didn’t get to do that for Michael, the sea did.”  She sighed.  “So, after that, it was hard to face life.  Too hard, I guess.  I just sat there and stared out the window.  I don’t remember anything until David came to get Aileen.  She must’ve told him some of it, but… I don’t really know.  He just took us both home.”

                “My father wouldn’t stand for it.  He lectured and yelled, but I didn’t even really hear him.  I wasn’t even going through the motions.  I was horrible to Aileen; wouldn’t even talk to her.”  She shook her head, “They sent me to the Provincial Asylum - I was an embarrassment to the family.  David would never have let them do it, I know that much, but he was away on business.  When he came back he was too busy with work and Aileen and then the baby coming, I guess…  When I came back, after he died, I was so angry with Aileen.  I was vicious and unkind, albeit nuttier than a fruitcake, but being chained to a bed for months is no picnic and someone had to pay for it!”  She shrugged and threw up her hands, “There you have it.  That is the whole sordid tale.  The family wouldn’t like to hear it.  Hell, they wouldn’t even believe it!  They think they know me, but they don’t.  All these years, I’ve watched and waited.  A part of me had to make my peace with myself before I could come here and make my peace with Michael.  I did that, thank God.”

                “And now what?” Emily asked curiously.  “Will you go back to Pinecrest?”  She was already thinking that she should arrange for Kate to have Teddy’s portion of the Kent inheritance.  They certainly didn’t need it, and it would give this woman the independence she needed and deserved.  Plus, it would give her a bit of power over the family that had hurt her so much in the past.

                She looked thoughtful, “Wouldn’t that flatten them!  Me going back like a normal human being?  But no, my place is here, where my heart lies.  Bury me beside him, Emily, when the time comes?  I’d never ask you for much, but I will ask that.”  She looked at her hands and touched the signet ring on her right hand, “This was his.  Bury it with me, please?”

                “Aunt Kate, you are not ill, are you?”  All of this talk about dying made Emily wonder if Kate’s visit was not somehow related to ill health, although she looked perfect.

                “No, no,” she shook her head, “Though they’d rather I were!  I’m well and likely to live for another score of years.  Sad that I got the chance and my children didn’t, but that’s the way it is.  No, I’ll figure out some way to live here and do a bit of travelling, if I can stomach the sea again.  Michael was all over the world when he was a sailor and told me lovely tales of the Barbary Coast and Gibraltar.  I would love to see that someday, if I can.  Read about it since.”  She had not really thought about what her next move would be.  Coming to see Michael had been the only thing on her mind for years and once that was accomplished it left her bereft of purpose and focus.  Visiting Emily was a by-product of geography and interest on her part, that and she really had nowhere else to go.  Michael had left her a bit of money, and Emily’s pocket money had paid for the train ticket, but that was all she had.

                Emily had a thought, “Why don’t you live at the Tansy Patch?”  She had purchased Teddy’s childhood home when it came up for sale some months ago.  She had no real plans for it, but felt it was a good idea.  Teddy had loved it there.  She also knew that buying land was never a bad idea.  Teddy had said as much before he left and that was one part of his financial strategy that she did understand.

                “The which?” Kate looked at her curiously.

                Emily realized that Kate would have no idea what she was talking about.  “It’s a house, not far from here.  Teddy grew up there, with his mother,” Emily said.  “It’s a quaint old place with an incredible view and the most adorable porch.  I bought it a while back and have no idea what to do with it.  It can be yours if you want it?”

                Kate’s eyes were cautious; no one had given her anything in such a long time.  Actually, come to think of it, no one except Michael had really ever given her anything unless there were strings attached.  “Why would you do that?” she asked carefully.  When the first note had come from Emily, along with the small token of spending money, she had been wary, but interested, somewhat like a cat chasing a string not knowing what might follow it.  But Emily’s letters had not treated her like a lunatic or a child; she had written as she might to any of her friends.  Actually, Kate had been amazed at the letters.  They were unbelievably descriptive and eloquent.  When David-the-Younger had read her the _Moral of the Rose_ and told her that Emily was E.B. Starr, she knew exactly why.  When the correspondence had continued, without malice or condescension, she had dared to believe that her brother’s son and his wife might just be her salvation.  She didn’t believe in fairy tales, but she believed in fate.

                “Because I want to,” Emily shrugged.  “You don’t need to go back to Ontario if you don’t want to.  No one should have to live with people who dislike them, and if you want to live here we would love to have you.”

                Kate grinned girlishly, “And no one should live with people they really like, either.  To close for comfort, I’d say.  You and I would get along merrily for a fortnight and then we’d be at it like tom cats on a full moon night!”  She thought for a moment, “You say this place isn’t far from here?”

                It was Laura Murray who answered, “Just a five minute walk away.  It would be delightful to have you nearby.”

                Emily nodded, “It would also be nice to see the old place fixed up again.  Teddy sold it when his mother moved to Montreal to live with him and the people who bought it just used it as a summer home.  We could make some repairs and you could set it up as you like,” she took a chance, “But we don’t go in for velvet wallpaper here!”

                “Ha!”  Kate laughed out loud.  “Cora would have your head for saying that!  I told her it was ugly the day she bought it and tore down all of the wood paneling.  At least that had some history to it, the velvet stuff is just garish pretending to be gorgeous.  You mean to say that you would let me fix it up as I like it?”

                Emily looked at her carefully.  She saw the hope and the fear that this might not be real.  Katharine Kent had been stifled and imprisoned for far too long to trust that anyone would really give her any freedom.  In spite of her praise of her husband, Emily knew that she had been too young and scared to really understand that at the time either.  “Kate,” she said quietly, “You can do whatever you want.  If you want it to be your home, it can be.  If not, you can buy something else.”

                Kate sighed, “With what, Emily?  I’m afraid I’m a bit of a burden to whoever I end up with.  Maybe I am better off back as Crazy Auntie Kate at Pinecrest,” she shook her head and looked out the window.  You could actually see the sea here.  When she had arrived in Halifax it had been a jolt to her heart.  Michael loved the water and had once said that the only home he would ever have was one beside the sea.  Something in her wanted that as a testament of her love for him.  All of her dreaded the prospect of a life bereft of any freedom except what she could invent in her mind.

                “Over my dead body!”  Emily spoke vehemently.  “You don’t deserve that and Teddy needs some family.  He never had any growing up and you’re the best there is.  Besides,” she took a deep breath and hoped that Teddy would agree with this, “You are not exactly a pauper or a vagrant.  Teddy has some interest in the Kent business in Malton.  It pays a bit of an income every month.  You are the eldest and should have inherited it all.  The least we can do is give you that.”

                Kate blinked, “You’re talking about the 10% that Teddy kept when he signed the rest over, aren’t you?”

                Emily nodded, looking at Kate and seeing outright astonishment.

                “Do you know exactly what that means?”  She looked over at the other woman, asking the question as directly as she could.  She did.  Her room was not over the dining room and office for nothing.  You could hear everything they did and said.  She knew that Teddy had willingly left the family business to his cousins, not wanting anything to do with the day-to-day operations; he knew nothing about the company.  Her nephew was no fool, though.  He had the document drawn up so that the dividend was paid based on income, not profit, and also still retained final control over the sale of any assets in the family or connected to the business.  The ‘bit of an income’ that her niece referred to was no small sum at all, and the whole lot of it was a fortune.  Katie wondered exactly how much Emily knew about her husband’s financial situation and if doing this would put them in a bad situation.

                Emily took a deep breath, “I know you do.”  She looked at Kate and hoped that she would not see revenge enter into this.  She also knew that Kate was wondering if this was a good idea for her nephew.

                “Oh, my God…” Kate shut her eyes.  “Emily, do you have any idea what this means to me?”  The majority of her conscious mind could not believe what she had just heard.  Why would a stranger give her this?  “Teddy will never let you do this,” no Kent male would, not even her brother David, but she didn’t say that to Emily.

                Emily’s eyes narrowed and she set her shoulders firmly, “You let me worry about what my husband will or won’t do.  He left me in charge of the whole lot and this is the right thing to do.  If he doesn’t like it, he can come back from France and change it!”  Emily knew her husband would have no problem with it, once she explained everything to him.  He had not felt comfortable with any of the family inheritance, but had told her that there was something he did not trust about his cousins, so he kept his finger in the pie just enough to keep them from going astray.  The income itself was almost an inconsequential amount in his portfolio.

                “This will turn them against you, Emily,” Kate shook her head in warning.  “That’s not a small thing, whether you think so or not.  Part of why I came here was to warn David’s boy about that, but…”

                “I’m not worried about them,” Emily interrupted.  “Teddy’s father left everything air tight; there is nothing they can do about it.  That, and I am not as much of a pushover as they might think.”

                “I can see that,” Kate commented.  She then looked at Laura, “What do you think of all this?  Do you think I should stay here and take this gift from my brother’s son?”  Something in her knew that as timid as this woman was, she also knew enough about humanity to be a good judge of her nephew’s character.

                “Absolutely!” Laura nodded.  She had no idea what they were talking about, in terms of money.  She knew that Teddy was fairly well-to-do.  Emily and Robin had never wanted for anything and New Moon was theirs now as well.  Although her writing certainly paid a decent living, Laura was sure that it was Teddy who had purchased the farm from Andrew.  She had no idea what he was paid to paint pictures, but it must be a lot.  Whatever other money he might have was well beyond her.

                Kate looked back at Emily, “Who is going to tell them?”

                There was an impish devilry in her eyes and Emily had to laugh at her obvious delight in making her family squirm, “You should, I think.  They deserve to eat a few of the words you’ve overheard over the years, don’t you think?”

                Kate laughed suddenly, with an absolute joy and relief.  Years were gone from her eyes.  She even sat straighter and more purposefully, “Oh, Emily I feel like the cat who ate the canary!  Except that this particular canary doesn’t even know it yet!”  She sobered slightly, “I’m not going to lord it over them, don’t worry.  I don’t give a fig for what they do and don’t do.  It would serve them right to take my revenge on the whole lot, but it really wasn’t this generation that did it.  I don’t want the younger ones to suffer because of some old grudge.  No,” she shook her head, “I’ll just leave it as is and let them do the dance for me instead of your husband.  I may take down the wallpaper, just to spite Cora though…” she chuckled to herself and imagined her sister’s face.  “Emily, I want you to know what this means to me,” she looked at her niece seriously.  “This is freedom I never thought I would have.  I can travel now and see all of the places Michael and I dreamed of seeing together.  I can visit Judith in New York.  I can live as I want, say what I want, and know that no one will put me back in that awful place.  I can even have a cat!” she smiled ecstatically.  “Speaking of persons of the feline nature, throw in a gorgeous grey beastie and I’ll take you up on the offer!”  There was no question about whether or not she would do it, a cat was just a bonus.

                Emily laughed, “You must have more than one cat; they don’t like to be lonely.  I have two for you, a brother and sister.  Fitting?”  She knew it would be.

                “You have yourself a neighbor and an aunt, girl!” Kate said, jovially.  “By the way, it’s Katie, not Kate, and Aunt, but never Auntie, if you please?  I hate that.  Makes me want to hiss at them!  Used to do it too,” she grinned.

 


	9. "Home By The Sea"

_“Images of sorrow, pictures of delight_  
Things that go to make up a life  
Endless days of summer longer nights of gloom  
Waiting for the morning light  
Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame  
Things that go to make up a life.”

_\- Genesis – “Home By the Sea”_

                Emily had not been to the Tansy Patch since Aileen Kent left Blair Water some eight years ago.  In the time since, a friend of a friend of Teddy’s had used it sporadically as a summer home.  Teddy had sold it furnished, only removing his mother’s personal things when she moved in with him.  Having seen the house in Montreal, she knew that most of what was in it had remained.  She looked over at Katharine Kent, now Gardiner.  “Well?”

                Kate took a deep breath and looked at the tiny house on the hill.  It wasn’t large, but it could be hers.  You could smell and see the ocean from here, too.  The little structure stood at the top of a small hillock with an old stone fence that bordered the road.  The slope was covered with wild tansy, giving the house its name.  An old, dilapidated barn, half fallen, leaned precariously toward the forest behind it.  Emily had been right about the porch; it wrapped the cottage in its arms, surrounding it.  The house itself was mainly fieldstone, with wooden shutters and trim.  The roof needed repair, as did the front steps.  “It’s beautiful!” she beamed at Emily.

                Emily smiled.  The past forty-eight hours with Aunt Katie had been a bit of a whirlwind.  Although she was not crazy, she was a tad quixotic; here one moment and there the next.  Emily knew it was because she just wasn’t sure where she should be.  She was somewhat like a dog freed of its pen after a day of confinement, running hither and thither and trying to decide which direction is best.  As it turned out, Dr. Burnley knew who she was.  He had been there for the delivery of her second child.

 

                “Katie Gardiner?  What the blazes?”  Allan Burnley stepped into the New Moon kitchen, unceremoniously and exclaimed.

                Kate looked up from the bread dough she was kneading and spat back, “Blazes is right!  Allan Burnley?”  She stood up straight and brushed the flour from her hands onto her apron.  “How dare you walk into this kitchen without wiping your shoes?”

                Laura Murray blinked in astonishment.  Kate knew Allan?  How on earth?  Suddenly she was nervous.  Although he had not said anything outright, Allan had been coming over much more lately, and not just because his grandchildren were here.  He often stayed after supper and the two of them would talk about nothing and everything on the porch, watching the sun go down.  She had thought…  Maybe…  But there was no way she could compete with Katharine Kent.  She sighed, almost audibly.

                Kate looked at her quickly, sizing up the situation immediately.  So this was the man Laura wanted, was it?  “What are you doing here?” she asked the doctor she hadn’t seen in thirty five years.  It would be impossible not to remember him though.  He was the one who had handed her little Michael to her, and the one who had taken him away.

                “I could ask the same of you,” he grumbled, scraping his boots obediently, all the same.  “Hello Laura, that smells delicious.”  He looked at Laura Murray companionably, but was surprised when she glared at him for a second, before turning away.  What the devil was this about?

                Kate went back to her bread, and spoke to him at the same time, “I’m Teddy’s aunt.  I decided to pay a visit to my niece and great-niece.”  She cut the dough efficiently and oiled each half before placing them in bowls and covering them with tea towels.  She shifted them to the warming shelf above the stove and then lifted the lid on Laura’s stew.  It did smell delicious.  “Did you want the potatoes in now?” she tried to keep her conversation normal.  Laura was livid.

                “I can make stew on my own, thank you!” Laura grabbed the spoon and stepped in front of Kate abruptly.  Although she did not raise her voice, she was angry and afraid.  Why was it that she never had a chance?

                “That you can,” Allan said, gently.  “Would you be able to feed this poor doctor tonight?”  He moved toward Laura and touched her shoulder.  Laura was a dear, she really was.  He had never really thought about how much he depended on her until lately.  Even when he had been married to Beatrice, she had done all of the mending for the family.  Her kitchen was always open to him and she was delightful to talk to, once she started to talk.

                Laura said nothing.  His hand on her shoulder was a surprise.  He had taken her hand last night when they went for a walk, but she had not wanted to read too much into that.  Perhaps he thought she might fall?  She might just fall now, but it would never do!  Not in front of Katharine Kent!  As much as she was beginning to enjoy the company of this strange and eclectic woman, she would not show that much weakness!  “Perhaps,” she said firmly.

                That’s it!  Katie smiled at her response.  Keep him guessing just a bit.  She said, “You’re the local physician, I take it?”  She moved to tidy her dishes and leave the couple some space.

                “Yes,” he nodded.  “For years.  Where have you been?  I haven’t seen you in decades,” he sat down carefully at the table, not wanting to upset Laura any more than he already had.  He had no idea what he had done to make her angry, but he was sure it was something.  Laura wasn’t normally like this, but other women tended to be.  He might just as well admit he was wrong and move on.

                She shrugged, “Ontario.  The loony bin for some of it, and then home, which is a different sort of loony bin.”

                Allan looked at her in surprise, “The…excuse me…loony bin?”  Katie Gardiner was the epitome of practical and organized.  What on earth was she talking about?

                “Went over the edge after…” she looked up at Allan.  “You were there.  You know what I went through.”  She was glad that she did not need to explain this to him.  “I didn’t cope with it well.”

                “You were there?” Laura looked at Allan in surprise.  “You knew her when…”  She stopped.  This was none of her business.  She did remember that Allan had worked at the harbor for a couple of years, right before he married Beatrice.

                He nodded to both of them, but spoke to Kate, “Not surprising.  Ted’s aunt, you say?  Wait a minute…” he thought carefully back in time.  “Michael Gardiner had a daughter.  She married… your brother it was?”  He looked up at her.  “Aileen Kent was Aileen Gardiner.  That makes sense.”

                Kate nodded, “Aileen and David were married, yes.  Now, if you will excuse me, I think I should change for dinner.”  She left the kitchen quickly.  Part of her had to put some space between herself and the man who had told her that her world was ended.  The other part had to let him make amends with his lady.

 

                Emily handed her the key, “Here, it’s yours.”  She watched as Kate moved up the stone stairs toward the door with some trepidation.  She stopped once, halfway up, to look around again.  Emily smiled.  This was the right decision.  She wrote to Teddy the evening his aunt arrived and told him the bones of the story, carefully omitting details that the censors might make too much of.  She knew he would be both surprised and reassured.  She watched as the older woman made her way carefully up the steps to the porch and then placed the key in the lock and turned it.

                Katie looked around her appraisingly.  It was small.  It was dilapidated.  It was…  “Oh God, Michael…” she whispered.  Above the fireplace there hung a watercolor of a sailboat on the bay.  Michael’s.  She moved toward it slowly and stared.  Then she reached out and touched it with the tips of her fingers.  His brush had touched this canvas, his eyes had seen this water sparkle, these waves undulate, this sky blush with sunlit brilliance.  She traced his signature slowly.  Michael.

She remembered this painting.  He had done it one Sunday afternoon.  He never really had a holiday, but on Sundays he did not rise before the sun and leave before most in the world were awake.  He would linger in their bed, and they would talk and laugh until he could bear it no longer.  He had to be up and about, regardless of the day.  He made breakfast for her and Aileen and then made off to his office while the two women went to church.

                Katie knew her husband well, in spite of their brief marriage.  They had been together so much before the wedding and engagement that it was inevitable.  He did not attend church regularly, but rather spent his time painting.  He loved art.  Any art.  He had travelled to Paris at some point and visited all of the galleries and salons, instead of heading to the red-light district like most sailors did.  Having been there herself, Kate could identify with what he had seen and how it inspired him.  When they returned home after a church luncheon that day, she found Michael on the back porch, his easel and canvas set up to face the ocean.  This painting had been the result.

                “Your husband painted that, didn’t he?” Emily asked quietly, when she saw Kate in front of the watercolor that had always hung above the fireplace.  She remembered Teddy talking about how he always wanted to paint that well, as a child.

                Kate took a deep breath and turned around, “I always wondered where it went.  There were more… Aileen must’ve had them somewhere.  I never asked her about them before she left.”  She looked around the room again, having ignored it when the painting grabbed her attention.  The furniture was covered with sheets, like ghostly apparitions of what each piece was.  She removed the few around her, appraising what they revealed.  “There was a table,” she looked around her briefly.  “Michael’s father built it.  I have no idea what happened to it, but Teddy would like it.”  She began removing more sheets, hoping to find what she was looking for.

                “A coffee table?” Emily asked, knowing the answer would be yes.  When Kate nodded, she smiled back, “We have it in our living room at home.  Teddy’s mother took it with her to Montreal and he brought it back again.  Would you like it?”  She smiled at the joy on the other woman’s face as she revealed and recognized items.

                Kate shook her head, absently, and continued to uncover the furniture.  When she finished, and the sheets were in a heap on the floor, she looked up at Emily, breathlessly, “Aileen must’ve gone to the house and got all of this.  I recognize most of it…” she picked up a small brass fitting and then set it down again.  “Emily, this is so much more than I ever dreamed.  I never thought I would have Michael back again, not like this.”  The tears came and she let them.

                Emily waited, watching her deal with the reality of her new situation.  She had already contacted the lawyers in Toronto and had them begin the paperwork necessary to transfer everything to Kate’s name.  “Is there anything from Pinecrest that you would like to have moved here?” she asked quietly.

                Kate shrugged, “Not much.  Some books, and I have a chair that I love.  It was my grandmother’s.  A few odds and sods, but nothing to worry about.  I can take care of it,” she looked up at Emily.  “Thank you.”

                “You’re welcome,” Emily murmured.  “I did take the liberty of getting you a housewarming gift,” she passed the package she had been carrying to Kate and smiled.

                Kate was awestruck, “A housewarming gift?  You gave me the bloody house!”  She shook her head, but took the package anyway, and unwrapped it slowly.  “Ahhh,” she nodded.  “Perfect.”

                Emily had given her a copy of her newest book and a small pen and ink sketch of Pinecrest that she found in Teddy’s studio.  He had done it on one of his previous visits; it made the house look almost like a home.

                “I would prefer to remember it like this,” Kate said, softly.  “He’s developed a lot since _The Smiling Girl_ ,” she looked at it appraisingly.  “He used to be emulative, but now he has his own style.  That’s good.  I would like to see more of his work sometime, if he wouldn’t mind?”

                Emily shrugged and then smiled companionably at her, “Of course.  I suppose I just take it for granted at home.  It’s everywhere – grocery lists, book flies, not to mention his actual sketchbooks and paintings.  I can take you up to the house later, if you like?”

                Kate was slightly confused, “You have another house?  I thought you lived at New Moon?”  She sat down in a chair that she remembered Aileen had often used for needlework and set her gifts on a side table that came from the Pinecrest sitting room – something David had appropriated, no doubt.

                Emily joined her, sitting across from her, remembering that this was where Mrs. Kent had liked to sit as well, “I live there now, it was too lonely for Robin and I, and Aunt Laura and Cousin Jimmy needed me to be a bit closer to home.  Our house is just up the hill, about ten minutes from here.  When Teddy comes home, we won’t be far.”

                Kate nodded and looked around, “Emily, if you… Could you give me some time here?”  She needed to see it all, and as much as she loved Emily, she needed to do it alone.  “I promise I won’t run away.”

                “Of course,” Emily smiled at her and impulsively reached over and squeezed her hand.  “You’re free Katie.  You’ll never have to run away from anywhere again.”  With that, she left.

                Katie Gardiner burst into tears of relief.

 

 


	10. "The Messenger"

June 1917

 _“Listening for his words_  
He would speak in ancient verse  
So we mesmerize a way to go  
Reaching out the universe  
Reaching out the universal  
Not afraid to learn new words”

_\- Yes – “The Messenger”_

                Emily stood in line at the post office, dreaming.  She was plotting out a yarn in her head – a rather frivolous story that had been haunting her for days now.  It wasn’t fine literature, but it was classic E.B. Starr.  She had thought herself unable to write things like that anymore and was delighted when this came to her.  She smiled to herself as the plot resolved in her mental outline.  Easy, simple.  She had only to write it down now.  That would be a welcome break from the more difficult article that she was revising for the Star.  She stepped forward to the counter and grinned at Liza Butterworth.  “Any mail for New Moon?” she asked.  Liza was not the brightest of souls, but she was kind and determined.  Both her husband and brother had been killed in France in the past eight months.  Liza was raising her own children and those of her brother.  Emily was astounded by the strength that women could show in times of trial.

                Liza nodded and handed her a pile.  Of course there was mail for New Moon.  There was always a stack of it.  There were heavy manila envelopes filled with political silliness for Ilse.  There were long, bond envelopes from Teddy’s solicitors in New York and Toronto – things she would need to spend countless, boring hours deciphering.  Today there were three others: a letter from Perry for his son Benjamin, and another from him to Ilse, and one to her from her editor at the Star.  There was nothing from Teddy, but she hadn’t expected it.  His letter had come yesterday.  She was still disappointed.  She remembered when he had simply been there every day – she had not had to wait for the poor substitute of his words to fill the void.  She sighed and stepped out into the late spring sunshine, carrying her mail and resuming the composition of her story in her head.

                “Star?” his voice was tentative, fearful almost.

                Emily awoke abruptly from her revisions.  She turned and drew a quick breath.  “Dean?” her voice was much less certain than she would have liked it to be.  Dean Priest, here?  Now?  What on earth was going on?

                He inclined his head slightly toward her in greeting, “I thought it was you when I chanced to see you enter the post office.”  He raked his eyes over her in appraisal, memorizing every detail in the mental catalogue of images of her that he kept in his mind.  Her slender form was clad simply.  She wore a soft grey skirt that ended at her infamous ankles and a snowy white shirt with an amethyst brooch at her throat.  The purple of the stone was a shade or two darker than her eyes, but had none of their depth.  Her head was uncovered, her dark hair gleaming in the sunshine.  Emily had never been a great fan of hats, even when they were fashionable.

                Emily tried to regain her composure, “How delightful to see you!”  She brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face with her left hand and smiled at him in greeting.

                Dean saw the diamond band on her ring finger and a part of him that he had thought dead and buried took another agonizing gasp.  She did not even like diamonds!  Why on earth was she wearing a stone she didn’t like?  When she had worn his ring, it had been the emerald of her birth month.  The rarest of gems for the rarest of women.

                Emily saw his eyes harden when they saw her wedding ring.  Although she could not profess to know Dean now, she had known him very well once upon a time.  That look was dangerous.  Teddy’s ring was as much a part of her as their daughter was.  She did not even think about it consciously unless it wasn’t there; platinum and diamonds in a continuous band of light around her finger, inscribed on the inside, always touching the pulse at the base of her finger: “The end of our rainbow – 19 August 1912.”  She only took it off when she absolutely had to.  Emily stepped slightly closer to Dean to avoid a motor car that was hurtling down the center of the main street in town.  She saw him flinch slightly at that.  “It’s good to see you.  What on earth are you doing back here?”  She had to ask.  There was more to this than he would ever tell her on his own.

                “Back from Europe,” he said, and shrugged his uneven shoulders.  “I thought you might be in Toronto?”  Actually, he had known exactly where she was.  His coming here was completely intentional and calculated, even if not voluntary.

                “Good heavens, no!” she turned to head back to New Moon and he fell in step beside her.  They headed out of town together, walking down a road they had traversed many times before in the past.  But it was very different now.  “Why on earth would you think that?”  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and slowed her pace slightly to match his.  He had not changed much in the twelve years since she had seen him last.  Had it really been twelve years?  His hair had silvered slightly, and the lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened.  His eyes were still their sardonic, cynical green.

                “I read your bi-line.  The Star is lucky to have Douglas’ daughter.”  When he had read it the first time, he knew exactly who wrote it.  He had never thought about the fact that she kept her maiden name on her fiction until he saw the editorials that she wrote using her husband’s name.  Was there trouble in paradise?  He read her work every chance he got – fiction, editorial, poetry.  Her style was unmistakable to him, even had there been no name on it at all.

                Emily looked at him in surprise, “You think so?”  She had wondered what he might think about it, if he had chanced to see it.  But, having no way to contact him, and no real wish to dig up a near-forgotten past, she had merely wondered and then let the thought pass.  Praise from Dean was as foreign a concept to her as his presence here beside her was now.

                “They are good,” he nodded.  “You’ve your father’s knack for a phrase – you always have.  These are narrative, but not too descriptive, as your stories are wont to be.  You evoke here, rather than catalogue.  You paint with your pen as if you’d seen it yourself.”  He looked at her in appreciation.  She deserved a compliment.  The work was good.  All of her work was far better now than it had ever been before.

                Emily stopped abruptly and turned to look at the water.  His words reminded her too much of her husband’s.  And of her husband’s sketches – those were the real stories.  She just translated them into prose.  She cleared her throat and watched the gulls soar and dive on the surf.  Somewhere across that ocean, he was seeing what was really happening.  “You said you were in Europe?” Her words were abrupt and short, more so than she meant them to be.  She softened her voice, deliberately, “You’ve seen it then?”

                Dean nodded, then he sighed.  The time had come to tell her why he was really here.  “I saw your husband in Paris.  He wanted me to bring you this.”  He held out the parcel toward her.

He supposed that he must’ve met Teddy Kent at some point in Emily’s childhood, but he honestly did not remember it.  He was nothing but a name, a shadow, a thief of the one thing Dean had always hoped to possess.  So, when a tall, uniform-clad Canadian Captain had interrupted his lunch at a café in Paris, he had no idea who it was, or what connection they might have.

                “Excuse me, but are you Dean Priest?”

                The voice jolted him alert.  He was sitting at a table with a beignet and the best coffee a war could offer, reading Emily’s newest book, _Of Thorns and Such_ , for the fourth time.  It was another volume in her saga that had begun with _The Moral of the Rose_.  The cover of this slim volume was a grey-green with black lettering.  Her eyes had taken on that shade at times.  He looked up, annoyed at the interruption, and nodded curtly, “You must be from the Island?”  The man was younger than he, but not a boy.

                Teddy took a deep breath and acknowledged the question.  He was on leave for three days in Paris.  He had seen the man twice before now, but couldn’t decide whether or not to speak to him.  Finally, the need to reconnect with Emily was irrepressible, regardless of the conduit.  “Yes.  You… you know my wife.  I’m Frederick Kent,” he offered his hand over the small railing that separated the restaurant patio from the street.  He had no desire to speak to Dean Priest.  But, he needed to send something to Emily and this was an opportunity he could not pass up.

                Dean’s heart thudded rapidly in his chest.  A shadow passed over his eyes as he looked at the soldier more closely.  This was her husband.  This was the man who had everything he had ever wanted.  “Your wife.  Yes.”  Dean stood up, awkwardly and shook the offered hand.  Teddy towered over him by several inches.  His broad, even shoulders and olive complexion were something any woman would admire.  Dean drew himself up, “Please join me?”

                They spoke, intermittently, about the war and politics, never mentioning her name.  Both were glad of it.  Dean noted the shadows around the other man’s eyes.  This was not a man free of care, but then again, no one was who was alive in these dark days.  That was a line of Emily’s.

                Teddy watched the other man closely as they sat and spoke together.  He remembered Dean from his childhood.  He was the specter of maturity that had always intruded on their childhood games and plans.  He would arrive near evening to walk and talk with Emily.  He remembered that she would always smile in a way reserved only for Dean and dart off to discuss poetry and literature with a kind of contemporary that neither he, nor Ilse nor Perry could ever be.  He had disliked him then, in an irrational way that he did not truly understand.  This man had memories of his wife that he would never share.  Although Emily had chosen, the once rivals would never be cordial with one another.  Civility must suffice, because Teddy needed him.  He took a deep breath, “I know it is a lot to ask, but would you be willing to take her something for me?”

                Reluctantly, Dean agreed.

 

                Emily stared at him, her eyes wide.  She dropped her mail and snatched at the parcel.  In those fractions of a second, Dean knew.  Her eyes were incredulous first, then expectant, then glittering with an uncensored joy that he knew he could never have given her.  Her eyes had never been that joyous in his presence.  Happy, yes sometimes.  Humorous, often.  Never strewn with such absolutely graceless relief and delight.  He stooped awkwardly and picked up the mail for her.  He could not watch this.

                She sank down onto a log at the side of the road and cradled the package in her arms as if it were a child.  She looked up at him hopefully, “You saw him?  You actually spoke to him?”  Usually, she avoided thinking about what might happen to her husband, but now, knowing that Dean had seen him, in person, she needed to know every detail.  “How is he?  What did he say?  Did he…”

                Dean held up his hand to stop her flood of words, “Star, please.”  This kind of desperation was not attractive in Emily.  Emily should not need anyone like this.  He sank down onto the log beside her and took a deep breath.  The pine woods of Prince Edward Island were unique.  They were calm and tranquil, but always rustled with the sounds of the none-too-distant sea.  Tranquility was a feeling he could not find right now.  He knew that she was waiting for him to speak, “I saw him sixteen days ago in Paris.  He was on leave in the city and then heading back to the front.  He was healthy, hale, and whole, Emily.”  He looked away and tried to separate himself from this.  He heard her gulp back a sob and turned to see her wiping her face furiously with her handkerchief.

                “I’m sorry, I just…” she couldn’t say any more than that.  She had to put every ounce of her energy into stopping herself from crying.

                Dean left her then, going quietly.  This was not his to share.  He knew that much.  Even if he wanted to console her, he knew he couldn’t.  She needed to be alone and he needed to leave her.

 


	11. "The Spangle Maker"

_“He’s the droplets_

_He’s that droplet on my truth_

_He’s the spangle_

_He is that spangle maker_

_His part of the plan, it hadn’t gone and there you are_

_It scattered then, it didn’t bond and there you are_

_Oh, perhaps it’s just the droplet singing_

_Broke and winded, I whistle and there you hide.”_

_Cocteau Twins – Spangle Maker_

 

                Emily turned the key in the lock and stepped inside their house.  The little house on the hill wasn’t disappointed any longer, but it was rather expectant.  When she had decided to move back to New Moon, Emily had not really closed up her house.  Instead, she came here regularly, every few days, and dusted and straightened, puttered and cleaned, even though nothing needed touching.  There was still food in the cupboard (although nothing perishable), and candles at the ready.  She even came here to work sometimes, if there was a deadline looming and the children were too distracting at home.  She also came here at night, after everyone had gone to sleep.  She would make a fire and sit, silently.  It was then that she missed her husband without reservation, privately remembering their time together and wishing for its return.  During the day she was stoic and brave, but here she could be the Emily that only he knew and understood.  Whatever was in the package Teddy sent with Dean must be important.  Mail arrived regularly, and he had even been able to send a small package for Robin last Christmas.  It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have sent this himself through the regular channels, unless the contents were special.

                She hurried up the stairs to their bedroom and set the package down on the bed in front of her.  She looked at it carefully.  Her name was written in his hand on the top.  Only her name.  She grabbed a letter opener from her desk and made short work of the string.  She saved it, though.  He had touched it.  She unwrapped the box carefully.  It was the size of a hatbox, but too heavy to contain only that.  She lifted the lid carefully.  On top was an envelope addressed in his strong, slanted hand: _My Love_.  She opened it and held it to her face, inhaling deeply.  Teddy.  It was Teddy.  Less than three weeks ago.

_“My Love,_

_I hope this finds you well, and working.  I know the messenger is not whom you might expect, but it was the only way to send this to you.  The censors are stricter now, and a bit hungrier too, it would seem.  I did not want any eyes but yours to see this._

_How are you?  Really?  Your letters are my life, darling.  Your book, well… I’ve read it three times already, as has Perry, and we’ve read it aloud twice now to the others.  You bring us all home, dearest.  Romance is alright.  Don’t be too eager to make everything so real.  Respite is welcome.  That and you know I don’t mind romance, so long as it’s with you._

_Would that I was there now in our house, in our room, alone with you and able to tell you all of this with my lips in that soft, precious spot behind your ear.  You are my love; all I am is who you have made me, Emily.  I will come home to you, and when I do I will never leave you again.  All the beauty that is for me is only because of you.  I didn’t need to come here to fight for it.  I see that now.  I see how right you were.  I know how right everything is when we are together.  Nothing else matters, not really._

_Please stay well and kiss our darling lass for me a million times.  Your own kisses are waiting for you in my heart.  Believe me love, a three month honeymoon will not be nearly long enough this time.  I think forever mightn’t be._

_Always your Teddy.”_

                The sketch at the bottom was of her and Robin, sitting beside Blair Water at sunrise.  She shook her head in wonder.  He could evoke color with mere black ink.  His depiction of Robin was a bit out of date, but reasonably accurate.  She supposed that her descriptions must be at least fair on that account.  She would definitely send a photograph or two in her next letter.

                She laid the letter down and turned her attention back to the box.  On top was a small packet labeled in Perry’s hand for Ilse.  She set that aside.  There was a small stuffed bear, presumably for Robin.  Although if Roosevelt were evoked, she wouldn’t mind hugging this ‘teddy’ in place of her real one.  There was a pearl bracelet around the bear’s neck, also for their daughter.  There was a hat for Emily, after all.  It was a tiny straw concoction in his favorite shade of lavender.  She didn’t wear hats, as a rule, but this was attractive in its simplicity.  Emily turned it over and saw that the label said “Chanel – Millinery, Paris.”  Hmm… she had heard of this girl.  She set it aside and took out a box containing chocolates.  She held it up and took a sniff.  Mmm… it reminded her of a small chocolaterie in the south of France.  They had visited there on their honeymoon and tasted a curious, spicy hot cocoa from South America.  It was very different from the processed chocolate that you could buy here – if you could buy it at all in these days of rationing.  This would be a delightful treat for everyone at home.  Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the next item.  She removed it from the box, gently.  It was a photograph of Teddy, standing in front of the Eifel Tower holding a sign – “Happy Anniversary.”  He was smiling at her.

                The tears almost came then again, but she didn’t let them.  She stroked the image gently with her fingertips.  He was thinner and she knew the smile was solely for her benefit; it barely reached his eyes.  He looked so tired, so alone.  It should not be a sign he held, it should be his wife!  Their anniversary was a week past.  Emily had sent a voluminous letter and a package of new socks and some of her shortbread.  There was also a poem included, but that was for him alone.  Celebrating important dates was rather fluid.  It was also rather frivolous.  The celebration she wanted was his return.  She sighed, kept the picture on her lap, and looked in the box again.  She saw the tiny, velvet covered box next and her eyes widened.  She opened it slowly.  The card on top read: “Five years.  That there may be five thousand more.  TK.”  The ring was a match to her wedding ring, but with three different birthstones in it: his sapphires, her emeralds, and Robin’s garnets.  She slid it on and held her hand up to the light that spilled in from the window.  It was lovely, truly lovely.  No wonder he hadn’t wanted to send this in the mail, it would never have arrived.  She looked at the gems on her hand thoughtfully.  This one was dark, dense, and powerful, it was strong and solid beside the brilliant white light of her wedding ring.  There was dark and light in everything, she supposed; there was good and evil, romance and reality, measured time and measureless eternity.  She had all of these on her hand now, just as they had all of them in their marriage.

                At the bottom of the box, Emily saw the sketchbook.  She removed it carefully with her newly bejeweled hand.  He always used the same kind of sketchbook, just as she used the same kind of journal.  His were larger, with linen paper that accepted both ink and pencil.  He ordered them from Montreal when he was home, so she had sent him one every few months from the same supplier.  She had included a brand new one with her anniversary package, in fact, along with a few new pencils and sticks of charcoal.  She wasn’t an expert, but she knew what he liked to work with.  It was the least she could do to give him the tools to do it while he was away.

                Emily knew that the book in her hands was what he couldn’t send by regular mail.  This was her husband in his purest, most personal form.  This was the Teddy that no one saw.  Even she would rarely gain a glimpse into this private world of his imagination.  He didn’t hide his work from her, but he had never offered an open invitation either.  He showed her what he wanted her to see.  He obviously wanted her to see this, to share it with him.

                There was a lot about Teddy that others did not understand.  He wasn’t the same man she had thought he would be when he first returned to her.  The boy she had loved was there, but there was more now, and what had been had changed as he grew up.  She knew that it had happened to all of them, but she really noticed it in Teddy.  Ilse had often asked her how she could stand being married to him.  It wasn’t derogatory when she said it, she just didn’t really understand him.  Ilse thought he could be vain, self-centered, and boring, always immersed in his work.  He was none of those things to her, but she could see how others might think that, even those that knew him best.

                He was handsome – always had been a ‘good looking boy’, as Aunt Elizabeth had been wont to say.  He really didn’t care a fig for how he looked or dressed though, she knew that.  He did understand balance and proportion and liked to be comfortable in his clothes, so he had them hand-tailored.  When he chanced to think about what he wore, he made sure all the items were perfect and impeccable, but only so that he could forget them and just exist on auto-pilot.  Emily had taken over some of that responsibility and knew that his insistence on quality was only to avoid disaster.

                Self-centered?  No, not in terms of his relationship with her and Robin – anything but, in fact.  He always put the two of them first.  There was no doubt about that.  If either of them needed anything he did his best to get it for them.  He had done a remarkable job of it too, providing the kind of security for them that Emily had never dreamed existed.  If he was painting – definitely yes.  The only one who could rouse him from his art was Robin.  Even Emily didn’t bother to try.  But she understood it – that was the difference.  She was exactly the same, guarding her hours writing like a hawk.  He worked in the morning, when the light was best.  That did mean that he missed some of the day’s activities while he worked.  A small price to pay, in her mind.  Emily preferred to write in the evenings, when the day’s inspiration could be reflected upon.  She had returned to her erratic, grueling schedule of late night marathon work sessions while Teddy was gone.  It was slightly more difficult to write all night when the lure of her husband’s arms was mere feet away – it was possible, but difficult.

                Boring?  Well now…  Emily looked around her at their bedroom thoughtfully.  She had not changed a thing in here since he left.  On his nightstand were the books he was working his way through: Tolstoy (untouched as yet, but useful as a bookend for the others), a volume of Dante that he was rereading at her insistence, Shakespeare because he liked to read her sonnets at bedtime, and a volume about Samurai warfare.  That was not boring.  When they had come here for their wedding night, Emily realized that sharing space with a man was much different than she had ever thought it would be.  Teddy commanded a presence everywhere, and here was no exception.  There was no footboard on their bed – it was too short for him if there were.  He also took the side of the bed by the door automatically, putting himself between her and anything or anyone who might enter.  While he treated her as an equal in all things, that he would do so in the private moments of their relationship had surprised her somewhat.  Teddy demanded more of her than she had expected.  He did not want to be in control all of the time and encouraged her to experience, initiate, and experiment.  No, that was definitely not boring.  But there were some things that she definitely could not say to Ilse.  She had written them down, much to her own surprise, and his.

 

On the third night of their week alone here, before leaving on a three month grand tour of ‘anywhere she wanted to go’, Emily felt the need to write.  If she were truly honest, she hadn’t thought about writing at all in the past three days.  It took a great deal to make Emily forget her pen!  She slipped out of their bed in the moonlight and slid behind her desk at the window.  The light was such that she didn’t need a lamp or candle.  She stared at the brand new ‘Jimmy book’ in front of her.  Writing about love had never been her favorite thing to do.  She had done it, and was comfortable with it, but had not been altogether pleased with the results.  She always felt that it lacked something – some element of sincerity and depth was missing.  She also avoided physical details, mainly from prudence and the needs of her audience, but the part of her that was trained by Frances Carpenter would not let her write about something that she had not experienced yet.  Well, that had certainly changed!

She opened the book, took a deep breath and took up her pen to write _“Love”_ on the front flyleaf.  She scrawled it in cursive and then turned to a fresh page and began.  Although her friends and relatives might describe her as “unconventional”, “odd”, and “modern”, this was something she had never done before.  There were words she had never written before, never really even allowed herself to think about before she was married.  There were actions and feelings that she had imagined, but never understood.  Now that she had experienced them, she wrote them.  It was a literary voyage of discovery for her, as her marriage had thus far been a physical one.  She wrote for several hours, revising and rewriting as she went so that the pages were cluttered and almost unreadable.

“Emily?” he murmured.  Teddy had been awake for a while, watching his wife work.  He knew that she liked to write at night, but she hadn’t done so for the past few evenings.  Alright, he had to be honest, he hadn’t really given her the opportunity.

She turned to him, distracted by a line she wanted to write.  “Hmm?”  She was immediately struck by something.  Her flash of old was like this – a vision of beauty that demanded an immediacy of pen to paper.  She saw in his eyes what she had been trying to write.  She shook her head, “I have to…” she spun back around and scribbled furiously.  When she finished, she took a deep breath and re-read what she had written.  She was suddenly conscious that she was not alone.  She looked back at her husband pensively.

“Whatever that was…” he shook his head in disbelief.  He reached over and touched the dark hair at her shoulders gently, letting it fall through his fingers like ribbons of silk.  “You are always beautiful when you write, but that was different.  I tried to draw it,” he held his sketchbook out to her.

Emily’s breath caught in her throat when she saw what he had drawn.  It was her, lying on their bed, her hair unbound, smiling something that was more than just her trademark smile.  She handed him her journal deliberately, “Start here,” she touched the page with her hand lightly.  As he read, she looked back at the sketch in her hands.  Was that really her?  This girl was definitely not a Murray of New Moon!  This was the girl she felt like.

When he finished reading, he looked at her with the intensity that she had only discovered in the past few days.  Their books were forgotten.

Not boring.  Not at all.

 

Emily opened the sketchbook in her hands.  She stared at his work in disbelief.  “God help him!” she whispered.  Page after page of sketches.  Most were tiny to conserve paper, but some were larger and more detailed.  Some had annotations of dates, names, and places – the censors would never have permitted that.  The variety was incredible, but the theme was cohesive.  There were men laughing, crying, screaming, and writing to sweethearts.  There were hands playing cards, eating, gesturing, and holding weapons.  There were soldiers in battle, in trenches, and asleep – both temporally and permanently.  There were guns, birds, trees, smoke, doctors, nurses, tanks, and artillery.  And there were graves.  All were black pencil on cream paper.  Emily closed the book and held it to her heart.  She curled up in a tight ball on their bed and sobbed.

 


	12. "I Didn't Know About You"

_“Romance was a thing,_

_I kidded about_

_How could I know about love_

_I didn’t know about you_

_I didn’t know about you”_

_\- Duke Ellington – “I Didn’t Know About You”_

Allan Burnley was distracted from his work.  This was an almost unheard-of state of affairs for the erstwhile doctor of Blair Water.  He could count the times it had happened in the past, and all were very logical, at least in his mind: anything involving Beatrice, Ilse’s wedding (well, weddings), and the births of Benjamin, Beatrice (his granddaughter), Rose and Iris, and Laura-Beth.  The last four were even pseudo-medical.  He had not been his daughter’s attending physician, but had ‘supervised’, as Ilse put it.  He would have it no other way.

                Allan Burnley was a fine doctor, an especially fine one, actually.  He cared for his patients absolutely, ignoring the rest of the world.  Even at seventy he made house call after house call and drove for miles to help others.  He would stay up all night nursing a patient and would then, once they were well, forget their name if he met them in the street.  He was always thinking about his next case, the newest preventative techniques, or some way to make a patient’s life easier; he never really thought about practical issues at all, or emotional ones, for that matter.  That was not the current situation.  Allan was absolutely, completely distracted by the latter.  And, it was bothering the hell out of him!

                What the devil was going on with Laura?  There were very few constants in life, but in his, Laura Murray had been one.  She was always there; to his knowledge she had never even left the Island in her entire life.  She might have been to Halifax once when Juliet was there, but he wasn’t sure about that.  She was always ready and willing to help, never questioning or complaining.  It was different now.  For some reason, the perfectly stable Laura had lost her mind.  Alright, he had to admit that she hadn’t _really_ lost it, he just couldn’t figure her out, and that bothered him.  He had thought that they were good friends, and had even thought that they might be able to spend their golden years together, once they arrived in them, of course.  There was no need to rush things, after all.  He nearly ran his car off the road when he realized that he was older now than almost all of his patients and that this might be the only chance he had.  But still, why rush?  They needed to get to know one another better.  This wasn’t going to be the hurried, passionate courtship he had with Beatrice.  This was going to be sane and adult.  Once again, it was going to be until Laura went insane.  She was acting like a _woman_ , for Devil’s sake, and he could not abide women!

                Katie Gardiner saw him muttering to himself as he walked around the General Store in town, picking up various and sundry ridiculous household items that no one would possibly need.  She decided, now that her own life was relatively settled, that it was high time Laura got what she wanted!  “Good God Allan, what the blazes are you doing?” she spoke to him sharply when he ran into her.

                He turned on her and snarled, “What?”  He realized who he was talking to and shook himself.  “Oh, hello Katie,” his voice was sullen and dejected.

                “Hello my arse-end you ignorant buffoon!” she shook her head.  “Snap out of it and ask that girl to marry you,” she said peremptorily.

                Allan’s eyes flew open, “What?” he repeated.  His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.  “How in hell do you know about…”

                Katie took him by the arm and pulled him out of the store, forcibly, away from the prying eyes of the Stewarts, “Get a hold of yourself, man!” she took a deep breath.  “Anyone with two eyes in their head and the time to look knows you’re as batty for Laura Murray as she is for you, except perhaps that she’s admitted it to herself for longer and is better at hiding it.  Get on with it, before one of you isn’t around to take part!” she crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him.  “Well?”

                “I… I… Did she really say that she…” he stammered in disbelief.  Laura?  In love with him?  When in hell’s half acre had that happened?  And just when had it started to matter so much to him?

                Katie rolled her eyes in frustration, “Are you completely ignorant of the female species?  How have you survived this long with a daughter like Ilse?”  Katie liked Ilse.  The girl had spirit!  She was a bit of a loose cannon at times, but that would temper with age and experience, in a good way.  She wasn’t book-smart, but she had a very good sense of people and could make her point effectively when speaking.  Sometimes you had to wade through the expletives to get to it, but it was there.  But back to the matter at hand.

                “I work a lot,” he admitted.  Then he looked up at Katie, seriously, “Do you really think that she cares?”  He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

                Katie softened her tone and lowered her arms to take his hand, “Yes, I know she does.”  She smiled up at him gently.

                Across the road, coming out of the post office, Laura Murray stopped and stared.  She felt like her heart was going to explode in her chest.  So, it was true then.  She had feared it might be, that very first day.  Of course, Kate had left the room, and Allan had not said a thing about her except to mention that things really did come full circle.  That had been all.  During the three weeks Kate had stayed with them at New Moon, he had not said anything more than the odd pleasantry to her when he came over.  It was Laura who had accompanied him to Aunt Gertrude’s 90th birthday tea and Laura whom he asked to help him sort out his billing file.  It was Laura who was raising his grandchildren!  But it was Katharine Kent’s hands he held, looking at her in a way that he had never looked at Laura.  What was it Kate had called her?  Blanc mange - that was it.  She was soft, insipid pudding compared to Kate’s vibrant, elegant and forceful beauty.  Laura dropped the mail, sending precious letters from both Perry and Teddy flying to the wind, and ran home to New Moon.

                “Oh Hell’s Bells, now we’ve done it!” Katie groaned, when she saw Laura dash out of town, heedless of everyone and everything.  She crossed the road quickly and picked up the mail Laura must’ve dropped.

                “Done what?” Allan was confused again, and followed her because he didn’t know what else to do.  He had just thought he sorted it all out.  What on earth was wrong now?

                “Who do you think dropped these?” Katie said in frustration.  “Who do you think just saw me holding your hand?  Dammit!  I should stop meddling in other people’s lives – I sure as hell can’t profess any skill in relationships!” she muttered the last to herself.

                “Laura saw that?  But were only…”  Oh bloody hell!  This was not what he needed right now!  “I’d better go and talk to her,” he sighed, reticent to say anything that might get him into hotter water.

                “Do you have a ring?” Katie demanded.  When she saw the look of surprise on his face, she grabbed his arm, “Dammit Allan!  Think about what you want, and then go and get it.  Don’t waste even another moment on this.”  She frowned at him, “Why are you still standing here?”

                Allan left, the basket of un-paid-for dry goods still hanging over his arm.

 

                Finding anything in the Burnley house was a bit like a treasure hunt.  “X” never marked the spot, but there were little reminders of where things were posted and hidden everywhere.  Allan’s medical office took up half of the house and was immaculate.  He could not abide any disorder there, it was too important.  Instruments were immediately washed and boiled and placed in drawers in neat rows on linen.  Records were filed by patient name and coded alphabetically for easy reference.  They were also immediately put away when he was done with them, sometimes even by him.  The private part of his home was not exactly the same.  He had housekeepers, sometimes, but it really frustrated him when they moved things.  He knew where everything was, even if items were not stored in a place logical human beings would put them.  For instance, his mother’s silver was under a cushion in the parlor.  That was because he only used it if he had company and company were the only people to sit in the parlor.  When they sat on it he would remember to use it.  Polishing was not a word in his vocabulary.  Ergo, he walked into the mudroom, lifted an empty plant pot and found his grandmother’s engagement and wedding rings.  His grandmother had grown the orchids that used to be in that pot.  It was perfectly logical.

                Allan stopped for a moment and considered what was in his hand.  He looked at the three opals, bordered with rubies and polished them gently on his coat lapel.  He put the wedding ring back; even bloody Gardiner would say that was getting ahead of himself!  Uncharacteristically, he looked in the mirror before leaving the house.  Well now, there was a shock!  He couldn’t remember when his hair had turned that shade of more-salt-than-pepper.  Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had cut his hair either.  He’d have to get Ilse over here soon or learn to braid it!  “Hah,” he chuckled at that, straightened his abysmally ratty tie and hurried out the door.

 

                “Where’s Laura?” he demanded of Jimmy when he entered the New Moon kitchen without knocking.

                Jimmy looked up at him from the bread and egg he was frying for his lunch and shrugged, “Upstairs.”

                “Oh,” Allan nodded and sat down.  He watched Jimmy move about the kitchen efficiently.  He was no gourmet chef, but he knew what he was doing.  Allan could boil water, but only because he needed it so often for his patients.  Boiled water was not exactly a meal though.  He did know how to boil eggs in the water, and that would suffice if he couldn’t come over here to eat.  He watched Jimmy eat his lunch at the counter and then rinse his plate and cup under the pump in the sink.  When he made to leave, Allan asked, “Is she coming down any time soon?”

                Jimmy shook his head, “Nope.  Headache.”  Then he looked at Allan Burnley critically.  Hopefully the man had come to his senses after fifty years.  “Woman do what they feel.  Men just need to feel what they do.”  With that bit of cryptic man-to-man wisdom, Jimmy left.

                Allan’s eyes widened.  Jimmy knew this too?  Hell in a hand basket, but he must look like an absolute fool!  Wait!  Headache, he knew what to do about that!  He grabbed the medical bag he always carried with him and dashed up the stairs.  He looked at the doors on the landing, considering.  Emily’s room was up the next set, as was Robin’s and all of the kids’.  Ilse had taken Elizabeth’s old room and he guessed that left Katie in the guest room.  Laura’s door must be this one on the left.  He knocked.

                Laura lifted her head from where it lay on her folded arms, sniffled, and said, “Emily, if you can manage dinner without me, I’d appreciate it.”  She dropped her head back down and sobbed again.  This hurt more than she had ever thought it would.  She had thought that watching him marry Beatrice was the worst she could feel, but she was wrong.

                Allan took a deep breath and opened the door, closing it gently behind him.  He set his bag down on the chair and looked around him.  He had never been in here before.  He was not sure what he expected Laura’s room to look like – hell, he hadn’t even really thought about the fact that she had a room before now.  Although it was not particularly stylish, it was quite lovely – calm and peaceful with a view of both the fields and the pine woods.  He crouched down beside her and stroked her hair, gently.

                She snapped her head up in surprise, “What… Allan!”  She jumped up quickly and turned away, straightening her dress and shaking her head.  “What are you doing here?” she asked desperately.

                “I… Jimmy said…” Allan stopped.  No.  “I came to talk to you about something.”  He fingered the ring in his pocket, making sure it was still there.  “I was wondering if you might like to go for a walk?”  He didn’t want to go for a walk!  Dammit!  He wanted to hug her and apologize, that was what he had meant to say.

                “I… no… I’m… I have a headache.  Please leave Allan,” she whispered.  She didn’t want to hear him tell her about Kate.  She didn’t want to hear that she was his friend and he needed to ask her advice about what kind of ring to buy or something like that.

                Allan took a deep breath, stepped forward, and gathered her in his arms without any further pleasantries.  “I have something for your headache,” he said quietly.  He hadn’t exactly planned to kiss her, but it seemed like a good idea right now.  About the best he’d had all day.  So he did.  He’d worry about the headache powders later.

                Laura was stunned when he put his arms around her, and really and completely shocked when he lowered his head and kissed her.  She barely had time to shut her eyes before his lips touched hers.  She had imagined this.  She had dreamed about it so many times as a girl.  Laura Murray had not been kissed in a very long time, and certainly not like this, not by Allan Burnley!

                Allan lifted his head slightly, “I love you, girl.”  Then he kissed her again.  This was definitely a good idea.

                Shock was not adequate to describe what his words made her feel.  What on earth was he doing?  Why was he acting like this, all of a sudden?  What about Kate Gardiner?

                He stopped again and shook his head slightly, “Stop thinking, woman!”  He had better up the ante a bit, he decided, and pulled her closer to him and kissed her again.

                There was absolutely no thought involved now for Laura, that was certain.  She didn’t remember exactly what he did, or how, but it was impossible to think about anything.

                Finally!  He relaxed and decided that it would be alright now.  He ended the kiss slowly and then opened his eyes and looked at her.  She was staring at him in disbelief.  Dear God her eyes were lovely!  Had they always been that brilliant blue?  He had never noticed before.  He ran his hand across her forehead lightly, “How’s the headache?”

                Laura blinked, once.

                He laughed gently at her astonishment, but then shook his head.  He shouldn’t laugh, he had been there only an hour before.  He moved a few inches away from her and took her hands in his.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out the ring.  “I thought we might get married.  What do you think?”

                Laura blinked, once more, and then she fainted.

                Had he not already been so close to her he could never have caught her.  But he was and he did.  He half carried and half dragged her limp form to the bed and laid her down, gently.  As he did so, he realized that this was probably a fairly significant shock to her.  Hell, he was pretty amazed too!  He took her pulse and felt it stabilize.  Then he watched her intently.  She blinked several times and looked at him in confusion.

                “Allan?” she whispered.  “What happened?”  Why on earth was Allan in her bedroom?  She must’ve been dreaming, because there was a lot that did not make sense to her.

                He looked at her in consideration and then got down on his knees – both of them because the right one was stiff as a board and about to give out – beside her bed.  He still held her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger.  “Please marry me?” he whispered.  He looked at her intently, “I love you.  I want to be with you.  I… I’ve been a bloody idiot!”

                Laura would not have believed that this was actually Allan Burnley speaking, but for the last sentence.  “You’re not an idiot,” she whispered.  She raised her hand to look at the ring, his hand still held hers and did not let go.  “I… You want to marry me, not Kate?” she looked at him in surprise.

                “Hell no!” he said, moving to sit beside her on the bed.  He’d done the chivalrous thing and now he had to get up or be stuck on the floor.  “Might as well marry Ilse!  Neither is my type.”  He had a ‘type’?  That was not something he had ever thought about before.  But he guessed that he did.  Beatrice had been beautiful, so beautiful he didn’t even know what he was doing.  When she died he had thought he was done with women – he had been for over thirty years.  Funny, he couldn’t even remember what her voice sounded like, or what she had liked and disliked.  He knew Laura from top to bottom, and loved every bit of her.

                She tried to sit up and he instantly helped her, steadying her as she wavered, “But you never said anything like this before.  You never even…”

                “I’m sorry,” he immediately replied.  He remembered that much about being married.  You just admitted you were wrong and apologized, regardless.  It didn’t matter if you even knew what you had or hadn’t done.  Admit guilt and get it over with.  He figured a bit more explanation was necessary on this account, though, “I didn’t realize it myself.  It took me this long to figure out that I desperately need you.  Do you…” he hesitated.  What if she didn’t really feel the same way?

                Laura nodded slowly, trying to sort this out, “I do care for you Allan, I always have.”  She tried, desperately, not to cry.

                “Care?” he asked.  He wanted her to love him!  “Will you marry me, Laura?”

                Laura shut her eyes, if this was a dream it would be better if she just kept dreaming it.  “Yes, I’ll marry you.  I love you so desperately, I…” she opened her eyes and he was smiling at her triumphantly.  “What?” she asked.

                “This is good,” he nodded.  “I understand this.  I didn’t understand why you were so mad at me all of the time.  Are you going to get like that again?”  He looked at her pleadingly, “Please don’t.  Just tell me I’m wrong and I’ll apologize.  You don’t even have to tell me what I did unless you want to make sure I don’t do it again.  I don’t, by the way,” he looked up at her, “I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

                In spite of herself, Laura laughed slightly at how earnest he was about this.  She had never thought about it before, but Allan Burnley was absolutely petrified of people.  Unless he was talking about medicine, he never had any idea what to say.  “Allan, I do love you, but can you really… really feel…” she shook her head.  This was still so incomprehensible.

                “I can and I do!” he said, emphatically.  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

                That much Laura knew.  No one could possibly persuade Allan to do something he did not want to do.  No one had ever been able to do that, not even Beatrice, not even Ilse.  The reality of what she had agreed to was something that petrified her.  Married?  At her age?

                Allan saw her wavering and decided that it might be a good idea to kiss her again.  That had been fairly successful the last time.  Felt good, too.  So he reached over and kissed her, still holding her hands.  It felt just as good.  Hopefully she wouldn’t faint again, but if she did, at least she was already on the bed.  His back wouldn’t let him lift her again.

                Laura was less amazed than she had been before, but it still surprised her that he would want to kiss her.  Once, okay, but several times?  He had barely touched her before now.  She moved away as the kiss ended, “Allan, what are you doing?”

                “Kissing you,” he replied, logically.  He looked at her in question and smoothed back a piece of hair that had come loose from her neat knot.  Women’s hair was lovely, come to think of it.  He had never seen Laura’s down, but he imagined that it would be a soft dove-grey cloud around her shoulders.  That would be nice.

                She blinked at his touch, and at the fact that he immediately took her hand again, “Why?”  She knew it sounded foolish and naïve.  She often thought that she was foolish and naïve to still believe that this might actually happen to someone like her.  She was like a tree in late fall, she thought.  The glorious fall color was gone and only a few, wispy brown leaves clung to the memory of a green spring and a greener summer.

Allan shook his head, “Don’t be obtuse, woman!  Why does any man kiss his woman?”  He stood up.  “I have to go and look in on the Sanderson baby – croup, but he was on the mend earlier today.”  He explained briefly as he straightened his jacket.  “Is your headache better?”  He looked at her seriously.

“I didn’t really have a headache,” Laura admitted, and moved toward him cautiously.  “What about… Should I tell Emily and Ilse and everyone?”  She dared to reach over and smooth down his upturned collar.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, in thanks.  He hadn’t thought about telling Ilse; there would be some fireworks there for sure.  “Do whatever you want, girl.  I’ll be back sometime this evening, not quite sure when.”  He picked up his medical bag and moved to open the door.  Right – he should kiss her goodbye.  He returned to her side and kissed her one more time.  “I’ll see you later.”  He smiled as he left the room and descended the stairs.  There.  Thank God that was settled!  It wasn’t such a bad idea after all.  Katie Gardiner sure as hell knew a thing or two about relationships; she just had met up with unfortunate circumstances.  Speaking of unfortunate, croup was nasty.  The Sanderson baby was tiny, too.  He had better swing back by the office and pick up some more expectorant, just in case.  With that, Allan switched on his physician’s brain and went about his work with an easy mind.  It was so nice that everything was back to normal now.

 

It was late; well after midnight.  Things had not gone well with the Sandersons.  The baby was still quite ill, but had coughed up the phlegm, finally.  He was feverish and the rattle in his chest was not something that Allan liked.  He left, but knew he needed to be back there in a few hours.  He also needed to go and see Laura.  He had promised, after all, and he didn’t like to break his promises.  There was still a light on in the kitchen when he pulled into the New Moon laneway.  He shut off the car and set the brake carefully.  Sometimes he forgot to do that.  It wasn’t a good thing when that happened.  One time his car had rolled out of a patient’s driveway and blocked the town road for three hours before he noticed.

He entered the kitchen quietly and found Emily cleaning up from one of her marathon baking sessions.  He did like cookies!  He nodded to her and grabbed one.  As soon as the sugar hit his tongue, he knew he was starving, but as he had on so many nights, he ignored it.  “Hello Emily,” he said quietly.  “Cookies are great!”  He took another one and stuffed it into his mouth whole.  When he finished chewing he asked, “Where’s Laura?”

“Asleep,” Emily said quietly.  “Congratulations, by the way,” she smiled at him.

“For what?” Allan grabbed another cookie.

Emily’s eyes widened, “For being engaged is what!  Don’t you remember?”

Of course he remembered!  Did she think he was an idiot?  He shook his head, “I’ll just say goodnight to Laura and be off.”  He headed toward the stairs.  He climbed them slowly and entered her room without knocking.  She was asleep in a white square of moonlight that shone in the windows onto her bed.  Damn, but that looked inviting!  Perhaps he shouldn’t wake her after all.  He decided to lie down beside her to think about it.  He was instantly asleep.

Allan had the ability to sleep and wake almost seamlessly.  You learned how to do that when you kept the hours he had to.  He was not sure why he woke up, but he did.  He looked around and then remembered where he was.  Right.  Laura.  He looked over at her and knew then what had woken him.  Laura was sitting up, staring at him with a frightened look on her face.  “Promised I’d come by tonight,” he explained.  “Thought I’d shut my eyes for a bit.  What time is it?”  He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

“About three,” Laura said quietly.  She had not heard him come in, but woke when he took her hand in his sleep.  Laura had never slept with anyone since Juliet was a little girl and used to come in after a nightmare or to talk about things.  She had certainly never woke up because a man held her hand.  She looked at the crumpled jacket and his unruly hair.  He could not possibly be comfortable.

What Laura didn’t realize was that Allan was just thankful to have been horizontal, rather than sitting in a hard chair.  He sighed and looked out the window.  It was a lovely view in the moonlight, that was certain.  He loved looking at the water, but sometimes he got a bit queasy if he watched it too long.  Looking at the moon over the pines was much more peaceful.  “You have a beautiful view,” he said softly.  “I like it here.  It’s so quiet.  The phone isn’t ringing and no one is running to the door with a problem.”  He stood up and walked to the window.  He saw Emily out in the garden gathering something in the herb patch.  Her ubiquitous pen and paper were at her side as she did.  Now there was a strange bit of humanity!  Emily Kent had never quite filled the mold of the typical wife and mother; she worked to damned much, for one.  But really, she was so fiercely independent that he was not sure he would have been able to stand it.

“Are you hungry?”  Laura asked the question more seriously than she should have.

He turned and faced her, “Oh you blessed girl!  Yes, famished!”  He shook his head, “Sandersons don’t have much.  I didn’t like to have supper there, didn’t want to take anything from them.  Plus, I suspect it might have been squirrel rather than chicken,” he grimaced.  He loved Laura’s cooking, far more than that of any of the housekeepers he had paid to do it for him.  Elizabeth had been a master at preserves and canning and pickling.  She could also make a roast that would melt in your mouth.  But, Laura could make something out of nothing in no time.  Her chicken and dumplings was incredible.  He almost drooled at the thought.

Laura got up slowly and put on her robe over her nightgown.  Part of that action was habit, the other part was that she wasn’t quite sure that she wanted Allan to see her in her nightgown.  That wasn’t really proper.  “I can fix you something, if you like?” she offered.  She flipped the long braid over her shoulder and stepped into her slippers.  They were tattered old house shoes that her mother had worn, once upon a time.  But, Laura loved how comfortable they were.

“I’d love it,” Allan nodded emphatically.  He moved toward her, “I was supposed to say good night, but I suppose hello and thank you will do now.”  He took her hands, gently and kissed the knuckle above his ring, “Hello, my girl.  Thank you for whatever meal this is that you are saving my life with,” then he pulled her closer and kissed her softly.  He watched her eyes as they opened, slowly, when the kiss ended, they really were gorgeous.  “Beautiful eyes,” he whispered.

Laura blushed, “Allan, really…”

“Yes, really,” he nodded.  Then he put his arm around her shoulder.

They walked down the stairs together.  As they entered the kitchen, Emily and her cats came in the back door.  Laura’s face reddened again.  What on earth would she think?

Emily smiled at them, “Finally convince her to feed you, did you?”  She set her basket of mint and anise down by the door.  “It’s a gorgeous night.  I’ve been out prowling for a while now and the moon is delicious – like frosted glass in winter.  Stars too – pinpricks of glamor on the velvet sky.”  She looked at Aunt Laura, “There are leftovers in the pantry.  Do you need help?”

Laura shook her head and moved away from Allan, “No Emily.  You should be in bed!  Look at the time!”  Laura waved her hand at the clock on the mantle as she set about warming the pan to reheat the chicken stew she had made earlier.  It was near four o’clock now.  “Haven’t you been to sleep, dear?”

Emily shrugged her shoulders, “No.  I needed to think about a few things,” she murmured.  More than a few.  The offer from her editor was weighing on her mind, as were Teddy’s sketches.  Sometimes she missed him more than other times.  Tonight had been one of the bad nights.  She lay in bed and waited to hear his quiet breathing beside her, or to feel his hand touch her in sleep.  None of that happened and it left her feeling terribly empty.  “I’ll leave you two then.  Good night, Dr. Burnley.  Goodnight Aunt-dearest,” she hugged Laura gently.  “Come my cadre of kittens,” she held the door as the cats followed her out and up the stairs, her bare feet as silent as their paws.

 


	13. "Love Letters"

September 1917

 _“I memorize ev'ry line,_  
I kiss the name that you sign.  
And, darling, then I read again right from the start  
Love letters straight from your heart.”

_\- Nat King Cole – “Love Letters”_

 

                “Kent?  Letter!” the private who served as the company clerk and mailman handed the envelope to him as he passed on his way down the line.

                Teddy took it and stepped out of line.  He smiled at Emily’s handwriting, but sighed when he felt the weight.  This was another short letter.

                Walking beside him, as they made their way down between the lines of camp tents, Perry shook his head as he read his own missive to himself.  “Good God woman!” he walked on with Teddy, now reading aloud:

_“Blasted Tories!  Bloody hypocrites is what!  You want the crops in?  You want the fishing done?  Women – equal in all things.  You want to get elected?  Don’t let us vote – we don’t know our own minds.  Thank God we’re Grits!  Perry Miller – PM.  Think about that!  Off to feed the chickens and then to read up on potato market value for the debate tomorrow.  Kisses, Ilse.”_

                “Why is it that you get reams of paper and I get a bloody rant on parliament stationary?”  Perry groaned to himself.

                Teddy chuckled at that.  Ilse’s letters were wont to be rather vitriolic, even when there was nothing going on.  Everything about this war seemed to set her off.  “She is right, you know.  You should think about Federal office.”  He held Emily’s letter tighter as they trudged through the mud back to their tent near the line.  Even though it had been a hot, dry summer, the mud was still there.  “Besides,” he sighed, “The letters I’ve been getting lately haven’t been nearly so long as all that.  Ever since Emily got her new typewriter, she’s been a lot more abbreviated.”  Also, a lot less personal.  That bothered him a bit.  The part of it that he wouldn’t acknowledge was that the distance in her letters had begun right around the time he figured that Dean Priest had delivered her parcel to her.  Could there really be anything for him to worry about on that account?  They entered the tent and Teddy dropped down onto his cot on the left hand side.

                “You can’t fight technology, old chap.  What does she say?”  Perry sat down in Teddy’s camp chair when he saw that his friend did not take it.  Bunking with the best map maker on the front line had its bonuses, not the least of which was unlimited paper and ink and a table to sit at.

                Teddy opened his letter and unfolded the papers.  Tucked inside were two poems she’d published, cut out from a newspaper.  Teddy skimmed over them.  Reprints; he’d read them both years ago.  He cleared his throat and read aloud from the typewritten page.

 _“Dear Ted,”_ That was unlike her.  She never called him that, although most others did.  He continued to read, in spite of it.

_“Hot again here.  Crops are good so the family is busy.  Two poems are enclosed for you.  Show them to Perry, he’ll like the one about the birch trees.  Other things to note: Robin sang in church on Sunday and Ben sprained his ankle.  Been working night and day on new stories and such.  Hope you are well.  Love, Emily.”_

                He looked at the letter again in confusion.  There were a lot of typographical errors, even in her short note.  That was not like her either.  It was a note that anyone could have typed to him.  Nothing in it read like her.

                “Let me see the one about the trees,” Perry held out his hand.

                It had been over six weeks since her last handwritten letter – some eight pages and two photographs of Robin.  That had been quite the shock.  Although he had read her descriptions and knew that his daughter had changed, he had no idea how much.  Robin was three and a half now and looked nothing like the baby he had left behind.  The letter itself contained a bit of news that had been rather interesting.  After the shock of hearing about his Aunt Kate’s arrival on the Island, this was even greater.

_“We’ve had a wedding, sweetheart!  Dr. Burnley and Aunt Laura.  I am still in shock, but I suppose I shouldn’t be.  It’s been years coming and they both seem ecstatic.  Aunt Laura was lovely on her wedding day in mother’s white dress and the veil I wore on our perfect day.  Ilse was best daughter, Cousin Jimmy gave her away, and Robin played the wedding march.  They live here now, which is good.  Quite the full house we have.”_

That was an Emily letter.  There was a precious page of her best love lettering too.  He re-read that every night before going to sleep and kept it in the pocket over his heart.  In spite of her initial reluctance to write about love, she was damned good at it when she put her mind to it.  He looked up when the private came into his tent without a greeting.

                “Kent!  Captain Ford wants to see you,” the private was bellowing again, even though he didn’t need to.

                Teddy left his letter on his cot and walked down the line of tents again, this time to the one their Captain occupied alone.  He waited until he was ordered in by the private.  “You wanted to see me?”  There was no ‘sir’ needed.  Most of the Canadians did not stand on ceremony like the Brits, and he shared the same rank as the man behind the desk.  Kenneth Ford was only their commander by virtue of a few extra months in the service.  He was an Islander too, sort of; the son of a journalist named Owen Ford and an Island girl named Leslie West.  Owen knew Emily, so they had something in common from the beginning.

“Yeah Ted.  Command wants you to run back to Central.  We’ve got a new war correspondent, it seems.”  He set down his pencil and rubbed his eyes.  He looked at Teddy and motioned toward a chair.  “My dad’s a writer, so I get it, but these guys… I dunno.  They are not the same breed.  They’re just here.”

                Teddy sat down in the offered chair in front of the desk, “What’s a man doing, coming to write about a war?  They should be fighting!  For God’s sake, help us end it!”  He hated this war.  He hated the cause and the men in charge.  He had been grossly mistaken when he thought they were fighting for something altruistic.  It was now just a war over reparations and reputations.  But, he was not about to stay away to avoid it, or not do his best to make it stop.

                Kenneth leaned forward and looked at him carefully.  Ted was one of the best men in the company.  He had done his share of fighting on the line; seen his share of action.  Then they discovered what he could do.  He had been out on a charge and had wound up stranded on the wrong side of no-man’s –land at daybreak.  Most had thought he was a goner, but he had returned the following evening just after nightfall with only a small abrasion on his leg and a wealth of information.  He had drawn the enemy position, in detail.  The following day, their charge had been absolutely successful.  He had saved more lives with a picture than he ever had with a gun.  He was also a friend.  “I know.  We’re due for something tonight.  The latest dispatches all say to expect it.  I don’t want you stuck up there in harm’s way, okay?”  Lately the Germans had been targeting the command posts more than the lines themselves.  All he needed was to lose one of his best on some administrative gopher job.  He had almost sent the private, but the note that the messenger brought was very specific: command wanted Kent.  He continued, “He’ll bunk with you and Miller until we can clear the stores out of the extra tent.  Take the truck out there, but grab an extra can of oil.  The thing leaks like a sieve.”

 


	14. "Unexpected"

_“I don’t know what is going on_  
Can’t work it out at all  
Whatever made you choose me  
I just can’t believe my eyes  
You look at me as though You couldn’t bear to lose me.”

_\- Andrew Lloyd Weber – “Unexpected”_

 

                Teddy had to stop three times on his way to Central command at the back of the line.  The truck had probably driven Henry Ford around when he was an infant!  It was ancient and decrepit.  He drove it straight to the motor pool when he arrived and negotiated a swap.  In the motor pool, men would do anything for three cartons of cigarettes, and Ken wouldn’t care, he’d be thankful!  Teddy had never taken up the habit, in spite of it being offered.  He knew, somehow, that Emily would never approve.

                He stepped into the clapboard building that passed for a command post and was told by the clerk to sit and wait while he went to tell the commander he was here.  He heard the Colonel’s raised voice through the thin walls of his office, but thought nothing of it.  They were always yelling about something in this Godforsaken place.  Instead, he looked out through the dirty glass window and saw another France, the one he and Emily had laughed and kissed their way across on their way to the Cote D’Azure.  He saw her smiling in the meadow of wildflowers with poppies woven in her hair.  Oddly prophetic, that.

                “Get in here now, Kent!” the Colonel bellowed.

                Teddy rose quickly and entered the office, still imagining the Emily he would sketch when he returned to his tent.  Although painting was out of the question here, he could and did still draw and plan what he would paint when he returned home.

                “What the hell is the meaning of this?” the Colonel yelled at him directly.

                Teddy roused himself.  What now?  “I’m sorry, sir, but I…” his voice faded and he stared, awestruck.

                The Colonel was screaming again, “What the hell kind of man sends for his wife in the middle of a war?  We don’t need a blasted woman…”

                Emily interrupted, “I’m a reporter, dammit!”  She glared at him icily, “I was sent here by the Toronto Daily Star.  My husband had nothing to do with it!”  That was only half a truth.  Teddy had not brought her here, but to say he had nothing to do with her decision to take the job when it was offered would be a lie.  She wanted to see him more than anything in the world, and now he was here.  Her heart was pounding in her throat.  Teddy.  It was really and truly her Teddy!  All she had to do was reach out her hand and touch him, he was that close to her now.

                “Women are not reporters!”  The man in front of her was about to burst something.  His face was beet red and his eyes showed tiny red lines on the whites of them.  He slammed his fist on the desk and the tin cup of pens vibrated.  No one in the room noticed that they kept vibrating, long after they should have stopped.

                Enough was enough!  Emily drew herself up and stared him down, ignoring the almost irresistible urge to throw herself into her husband’s arms.  The Murray Look was on her face.  For the uninitiated it was quite fearsome.  “This woman is.  When I walked in here you told me you were waiting for E. Kent to arrive.  Well, I’m E. Kent – Emily Kent.  I write for the Toronto Daily Star and they sent me here to write about the war.  I’ve travelled thousands of miles to get here and I am not about to turn around and go home because I’m a woman.”  This was intolerable.  She had never really listened to Ilse’s rants about feminism, or her complaints about inequality.  But now, she wished she had one tenth of her friend’s factual ammunition.

                Teddy shook his head and cleared his throat.  If this was a dream, and he was pretty sure it had to be, it was the best one he’d had in years.  This dream even smelled like Emily.  “Sir, this is my wife and I assure you that she is a writer.”  He hadn’t known that she wrote for the Star – if this wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.  And using his name?  Well, this must be a dream because she had sworn that she would never do that.  Still, if this were real and Emily was really here…

                A loud whine interrupted his train of thought.

                Teddy reacted instantly.  He grabbed Emily and threw himself over her as the explosion rocked the ground.  He hit the floor, shielding her with his body and covering her head with his arms.  Debris flew everywhere and he shut his eyes.  “Don’t let me die now,” he whispered.  “At least let me see how this ends.”  He heard another ascending whine and recognized the pattern of an air strike.  “Come on Emily – NOW!” he bellowed, pulling her to her feet in front of him.  He ran, crouched over her, to the gaping hole in the side of the building.  There was a bunker about twenty five yards away.  “Run Emily!”  He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, running as fast as he could.  Thankfully, she kept up.  When they reached the bunker he pushed her inside ahead of him.  It was dark inside the small structure that had been built into the side of a hill.  He looked through the gun slits and could see that the command post was in ruins and the lines ahead were scrambling to marshal a counter- attack.  Ken’s dispatches had been right after all, just a few hours off.

                “What’s going on?” Emily stretched up on her toes to try and see out the small window herself.

                He felt her hand on his shoulder and could see the flecks of silver in her eyes as they watched the scene in front of her.  Teddy looked down at her in disbelief, “It really is you?  I am not dreaming this?”  Oh God, he hoped not!

                “Of course you’re not dreaming!” Emily snapped.  She was afraid.  All the way here from Paris, she only heard the guns and the bombs in the distance, never at such close range.  This was petrifying!  “Did that explosion sound like a dream or feel like a dream?”  The hand she placed on his shoulder so automatically was threatening to shake violently.  The warmth of his skin beneath her palm was ration and reason, somehow, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

                “A nightmare,” he whispered.  “Months of nightmares.”  He stepped away from her and raked his hand through his hair in confusion.  “Are you really here?”  Even though she was definitely real, a part of him did not believe it.  What was she doing here?

                Emily took a deep breath, “I’m really here.”  She looked at him carefully in the dim light.  He was even thinner than in the picture he had sent.  His hair was shaggy and his eyes were dark with exhaustion.  “How… How are you?” she whispered.

                He stared at her for a few more seconds and then simply grabbed her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.  Specter, chimera, he didn’t really care, all he wanted to do was kiss her and hold her close to him.  The Emily that came from his pen was nothing compared to this.  The Emily that wrote to him of their love and home was here.  It made sense to him now.  Emily had not written any of the letters he was so worried about; she had been on her way here.  That in itself reassured him more than anything would have.  He ran his hands down her back, slowly, ascertaining that this was really his woman in his arms.  His fingers found the line of her spine and traced each vertebrae; the tiny undulations of flesh and bone that he remembered so well and could never replicate with mere paper and ink.  He pulled her closer.

                She wound her arms around him and held onto him tightly, opening her lips to his.  She might be a writer, and a reporter, but she was a woman.  She was Teddy’s wife, right here and right now, and that was all that really mattered.  She had not forgotten what this was like, but it had been so long since she felt it.  Once, his form had been as familiar to her as her own.  She knew every inch of him.  But now that was different.  He felt almost unfamiliar in her arms, leaner and more muscular than before.  But it was Teddy, finally.

                He moved away from her for a moment and cradled her face in his hands, “Oh love…”  He searched her eyes and took in every detail.  The glittering, spangled grey-purple of her eyes was shimmering with tears now, and the upturned corners tried valiantly to hold them in.  The dusky, indigo shadows beneath her eyes were testament to more than a few white nights.  These were the things that he had struggled to paint for the last few months.  These were the things that memory would not hold onto precisely enough for him.  He saw the tears spill over and bent to kiss each one of them away gently, as he had promised he would.

                Emily realized she was clenching the back of his shirt in her hands tightly, and let go slowly, smoothing it beneath her hands so she could feel every inch of him.  She let his lips brush her cheeks gently.  She would write about this.  This was a thousand times more real and more important than the bombs or the guns that slammed and whined outside.

Sometime later, from inside the circle of his arms on the floor, Emily asked, “Are you mad at me?”

                “Mad for you, but not at you.”  Teddy shook his head, “What on earth are you doing here?  And don’t give me that line about being a reporter.”  Now that the initial shock of her presence was gone, he realized that none of this really added up.  Emily didn’t write news articles, and she would never use his name on any of her writing; she had told him as much when they were first married.  Had she come here for him?

                “It’s not a line!”  Emily sat up and tried to rearrange her shirt to button it, realizing that one or more of the fasteners was gone.  She crossed it over her chest instead.  “I am a reporter, for the Toronto Daily Star.”  She stood up and tucked her shirt into her trousers and refastened the buttons on them – at least they were all still there.  These had been Ilse’s creation – an old pair of Teddy’s altered to fit her and infinitely more practical than a long skirt.  She was a bit leery of the idea at first, but tried it out at home when Cousin Jimmy needed help with the hay and found she liked it.  After their dash across the compound, she knew they had probably saved her life.  They were comfortable in a different way than her dresses and skirts; it was more difficult to organize what was under them, but easier to move about.

                Teddy blinked in disbelief.  Her dark hair was a tumble of waves around her shoulders and her lips were crimson and softened by his kisses - more than lovely.  He adored the Emily who rose from their bed almost as much as the one in it.  But this Emily wasn’t the girl he left behind.  He took in the rest of her attire.  She wore a linen shirt that buttoned up the front and was open at her throat, much as one of his would have been.  Come to think of it, this looked suspiciously like one of his shirts, except that it fit her differently than it would have him.  He could see the pulse beating in the cord of her neck and was simply grateful that she was alive and mere feet away from him, rather than thousands of miles.  He blinked again when he looked down.  Tucked into an old pair of high boots was a pair of men’s trousers, cinched at her waist with a leather belt that she was refastening.  “Are those my pants?” he asked in disbelief.  Emily’s lines were slender and graceful, and she was taller than most women.  That didn’t bother him at all.  Her curves were eloquent and subtle, but in those pants, nothing was subtle.

                “Pardon?” Emily looked out the window again.  The noise from the attack was over, and now the work had begun in earnest.  Wagons were traversing the lines, carrying armed men to and fro.  Men with stretchers were hurrying to tents that must house hospitals.  From their vantage point behind all of the action, it looked like a well-organized city.  She supposed that was what it really was – a community forced together by this travesty.  It seemed disrespectful to liken them to insects, mere workers in the hive of activity.  But were they not that; servants to some greater power that cared very little for their welfare?

                “Emily!” Teddy spoke louder now.  “Emily, look at me!”  Enough was enough!  This was no dream, and as glorious as the reality was, it was simply incomprehensible.  He needed an explanation that would make sense.

                She shut her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.  Smoke, dirt, and the damp odor of the bunker filled her senses.  There was something almost unreal about the gravity of this place.  Everything was heavy, dense, and harsh – unmistakably real.  She had not foreseen that.  Contrasting what was happening outside with how wonderful it felt to hold him in her arms was a task that even her words could not convey. She had imagined seeing him so many times since making the decision to come here.  She had played out their reunion in a thousand different ways, but none of her fantasies had been like this.  Nothing could have prepared her for the reality that he had been living in, heretofore without her.  She turned and looked at him evenly, “I… I had to come.  I had to see it for real.”  The words came more easily once she began.  This was Teddy, he would understand.  “Your sketches didn’t make sense to me, and I needed them to.  I can’t write about a war that I’ve never seen, not really.”  She looked at him hopefully.

                He nodded slowly, “I understand that.”  A part of him knew that was what he was trying to show her in the sketchbook that he sent home to her.  He wanted her to know what the reality was like, as best you could convey it in pictures.  He wanted to share that with her so the gulf between them would not widen.  “But how on earth did they allow a woman to come here?”  Moreover, his woman!  “This is the bloody front line, Emily!  You could have been killed back there!  What were you thinking?”  His hands shook with fear now, instead of the need to capture her face and form on paper, or the more physical need that her presence had sated, for the moment.  What if he lost her here?

                “Me?  I could have been killed?” she shook her head viciously.  “Men were killed – are dying out there right now!  You’ve been here for years and I have been worried sick.  Why am I, all of a sudden, more important than anyone else?”  There was mud and blood everywhere, just as he’d told her there was.  Their fields of golden glamour were gore churned harrows of pain now.

                Teddy’s temper flashed, abruptly, “You’re my wife!” he roared.  “You cannot… You will not put your life at risk like this!”  His body vibrated with something he knew was not anger, it was absolute terror.  What if he lost her here?  “And you… you need to put some proper clothes on!” he hurled the last at her in desperation.

                She stared at him in disbelief.  He never got angry, as a rule, but if he did, it manifested itself in silence and brooding.  He would eventually come around and they would talk it out.  He never raised his voice.  “You’re worried about my clothes?”  Oh God, this was not what she wanted, not at all!  They were not supposed to be angry with one another.  She shut her eyes and counted to ten, slowly, as she did when the children were being difficult.  “Teddy please, let’s not argue?  That’s not why I came here and it’s not going to solve anything.”

                Teddy’s temper had, likewise, blown itself out.  It hadn’t been anger, in the first place.  He was rather amazed at himself, actually.  He couldn’t remember when he had ever reacted that way.  He nodded in agreement with her.  “I don’t want to argue either, but Emily I…” he stopped when he heard a bugle call outside.  What time was it?  It had been so long since he had anyone to lose track of time with.  He looked at his watch; it was almost 8:00 p.m.  “Christ!” he muttered and grabbed his rifle.  He swung it over his shoulder and reoriented his own clothing, much as Emily had done moments earlier.  He put on the metal helmet that was not at all superfluous, opened the door of the bunker and peered outside carefully.  It was approaching dusk outside now.  He felt her at his elbow and automatically put his arm around her.  “I need to get back to camp.  That signal means roll call.  They are trying to figure out who made it and who didn’t.”  He tried to explain the procedure in the simplest way possible.

                “Do you think many didn’t make it?” she watched his profile for a reaction.  She needed a gauge to see how much he was still holding inside him.  She had spoken to some of the men who returned from the front lines when they arrived home.  The terror that they bottled up inside them was a frightening thing – many would never be able to live normal lives because of it.  She did not want that for Teddy, or for their relationship.  She knew that was part of why she had to come when the opportunity was given to her.  She might have sobbed for him when she saw his sketches, but being here with him would give him something more than empathy across an ocean.

                Teddy didn’t like to think about that.  There had been too many times when he had reported in, only to find that far too many of his comrades could not.  He shrugged, more to ease the tension from his shoulders than anything else.  Her hand on his shoulder was a comfort, whether he wanted to admit it or not.  He let himself relax into her, slightly, taking his strength from her.  “I’ve no idea.  They’ve hit us from the air before, but they’re not usually so accurate.  This is a new thing.  It’s usually the guns that you really have to worry about.”  He stepped outside and surveyed the scene.  He desperately hoped that the motor pool was still in existence.  It would be a long five mile hike back to the line.  “Come on, let’s go.”  He took her hand and headed stoically toward where the Central Command office had been.  There was a completely different reason to be brave now.

                The damage was horrendous.  Emily’s could not take it all in at once, let alone process what it actually meant.  Teddy would not let her slow to look in more detail at anything.  He stopped only once to ask her, “Did they give you any gear at all?”  He reluctantly admitted that her attire was more than appropriate, if lacking in some of the fundamental protective elements that they were normally issued.

                “No,” she patted the messenger bag that hung from her shoulder.  “My work is in here, but the rest was in that building.”  She realized, belatedly, that her typewriter was there too.  Clothing was very much secondary to her need to work.

                “Here,” he stooped and picked up a helmet that was lying on the ground.  It matched the one he wore exactly.  “Put this on and leave it on – it’s the latest in French millinery.”  He watched as she fastened the chin strap and then continued to wind his way through the wreckage that had been the command post.  He stepped over what had once been the wall.  “This yours?”  He unearthed a small case and her portable typewriter.  They were dirty, but seemed none the worse for wear.

                She nodded absently, looking around what remained of the room she had waited in only hours ago.  Now there were no walls standing and the clerk’s desk was covered in debris.  She almost turned away, but then she saw it.  She felt the blood roar in her ears.  Everything around her went dark, her only point of focus was in front of her.  Her flash was like this, except that when that happened, everything was light.  It was somehow apropos, and symbolic at the same time, that this vision would be shrouded in darkness.  The words came to her in the same way, though, writing themselves across the page of her consciousness, indelible and unforgettable.  She was jolted alert by something, she knew not what, and the world returned to her.  She blinked and looked again.  It wasn’t what it had been.  It wasn’t a vision or an inspiration.  It was merely a man’s hand, covered in dust, protruding from the rubble.  The fingers were relaxed, the palm turned Heavenward in an unconscious offering.  Emily cocked her head to the side and looked at it again.  The words were still there, waiting to be written when she had the chance, but the magic, the witchcraft that had given them to her was gone.  A part of her knew that she should be horrified by this, but somehow in the phosphorous half-light, horror was a relative thing.  This hand meant her no harm at all, and had been there to fight off the evil that did.

                Teddy stood beside her, silently.  He saw her freeze and came over to catch her if she fainted.  When he saw what she was looking at, he understood.  These were the things that inspired him to sketch and draw as he had in the book he sent to her.  He knew now that Emily was seeing it for real for the first time, trying to rationalize a loss of life was not at all rational.  He put his arm around her again and squeezed her shoulders gently, “Come on love, let’s see if we can’t find some transportation.”  He knew that he needed to let her come to grips with this in her own way.

 

 


	15. "Home"

_“Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it all_

_You just might get it all and then some you don't want_

_Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it all_

_You just might get it all, yeah”_

_-_ _Daughtry – “Home”_

 

                Emily didn’t speak as they walked across the compound to one of the few buildings left standing.  She stood in the shadows as he spoke to some men and was given the keys to a truck.  He guided her to the vehicle and loaded all of her things into it.  They were finally underway, following a road so pock-marked with potholes and shell holes that it was difficult to hear yourself think.  This was no road to take their Rolls on, that was certain.  That life was so far removed from this one that Emily almost could not believe it was the same man that she rode beside.  She looked over at her husband.  He was silent, but it wasn’t out of anger.  He was waiting for her to speak first.  She had to be the one to make the words that would bridge the gap between them.  The night was bright with a half moon and a sparkling cast of stars.  She had often wondered if the same stars that shone so pure on her on the Island could see her beloved here.  Now she knew.  Orion, in his glory, and the North Star as well, were firmly quilted into the deep navy of the sky.  Sky like this reminded her of her husband’s eyes, always.  Both were so deep and fathomless, it seemed to her. The Vega of the Lyre was straight in front of them, just over the horizon, beaming warmth from millions of miles away.  She looked at Teddy again, his profile silhouetted against the darker night.  His eyes were focused on the road ahead.  She looked down and watched his hand on the gear shift.  His hand was alabaster in the moonlight, where the other had been bone.  She thanked God that he was still alive.  “I’m sorry,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the engine of the truck.

                “I am too,” he said in reply.  He wasn’t really sure what he was apologizing for.  Maybe it was for his anger earlier; more likely it was for the situation that his decision to come here in the first place had put them in.  That felt like reason enough to apologize for a lifetime.  He took her hand and placed it under his on the gear shift, more to reassure himself than her.  He felt her wedding ring under his fingers and looked at his own on the hand that held the steering wheel.  His was narrow, plain gold, engraved to match hers.  This ring had belonged to her father, she told him, and was one of the few things she had of his.  “There are so few rainbows here, Emily.  The storm just goes on and on.”  He shook his head.

                Emily threaded her fingers through his and said nothing.  What could she say?  She didn’t know what it was like, not really.  If today was any indication, though, there was no anticipating anything.  In the meantime, there was so much to see, to take in.  She had told him she was here to learn, and that was true.  What she had not bargained on was that the learning would be so difficult.  She remembered something Mr. Carpenter had told her once – that there were pine woods and pigsties in the world.  You could write about both, but pine woods were much prettier.  She almost laughed aloud when she thought about it, in a maniacal way, borne of fear and dread.  This had to be the closest thing to a pigsty of humanity that had ever existed in the history of the world.  Would she ever see her pine woods again?  Would the poet in her be able to write about this?

As they drove, Emily looked around her, trying to get some sense of the organization of this place.  The tents were crowded together on either side of the roadway, in long lines that resembled the rows of graves she had passed on her way through the countryside this morning.  Why did everything here have to have this uncanny correlation to death?  The only difference along these lines was that men were sitting outside the tents.  They were not given the warmth or the comfort of fires to sit around, but still sat in the eternal circles that men will form in encouragement of community.  Light and heat might have forsaken them on this night, but they had each other.

The jeep stopped and Teddy shut it off abruptly.  He took a deep breath, “This is it.  The line starts about 100 yards down the hill.  I don’t know what you can see in this light.”  They were on the front line now.  Beyond the first line of trenches, dug by him and all of the men in this camp when they first arrived, there was another, expanded when they gained ground.  The third line was still in progress, but casualties had been heavy lately, so work had slowed to a snail’s pace there.  They had pulled into the lean-to that was next to Kenneth Ford’s tent.  “I need to report that we made it back.  Do you want to come in with me and meet the Captain?”

“Of course,” Emily nodded.  If nothing else, courtesy and good manners demanded it.  Regardless of the situation, her Murray upbringing would stand her in good stead in the deportment arena.  She had letters from home for the Captain and knew that she should deliver them as soon as possible.  But, she was bone tired.  It had been an exhausting day, from dawn until now.  Forgetting her physical weariness, she was really just hanging on to herself.  She desperately wanted to just grab Teddy and hold him tightly so that no one could take him away from her again.  She tried to get a sense of what was around her, but could see very little in the dark.  There were no lights, but there was a presence surrounding them.  The stench was horrific!  Teddy wrote about the mud and the cold and the darkness, but he never mentioned that.  It was the odor of human life and death, intermingled with a noxious, chemical smell that she was unfamiliar with.  “What’s that smell?” she asked, quietly.

Teddy swallowed hard.  What wasn’t in the smell here, that would be a better question.  You grew accustomed to it, while you were here, but if you had the chance to leave, it hit you hard on your return.  Emily was not a city girl, so the natural smells would be familiar to her.  He took a breath in and analyzed it, carefully.  “Gas,” he said quietly.  “It settles in the trenches when the air is damp.”  It was always damp here.  He would have to remember to get her more gear.  After unloading her bag and typewriter near the door of the tent, Teddy took her arm and knocked on the doorframe, “Captain?”

“Enter,” the voice inside was exhausted.  Kenneth Ford looked up from the roll book on his table and sighed with relief.  “You are the best news I’ve had in six hours, Ted!” he sat back in his chair.  “How was it up there?”

Teddy shrugged, “Bad enough.  They hit something for a change.  Unluckily it was the command post, lucky that it wasn’t a hundred yards east or it would have been the armory.  Commander is hurt badly, but still alive and fighting mad, if the boys in the motor pool know what’s what.”  He took a deep breath and stepped forward with Emily at his side.  “Ken this is our new correspondent, E. Kent of the Toronto Daily Star.  This is also my wife, Emily.  Emily, this is Captain Ken Ford.”  His voice shook when he said the words.

Kenneth’s eyes widened, “Holy Mother of God!”

Emily smiled slightly, “No, not at all.”

Kenneth looked at Teddy in disbelief, “Tell me that you didn’t know about this, please?”  This was simply unbelievable, and unheard of.  It was bad enough to have a civilian on the line, but a woman?

“You know that I didn’t,” Teddy said, cursorily.  He looked sideways at Emily and saw that she was drawing herself up for defense.  If nothing else, he had to admit that he had one hell of a courageous and determined wife.  Not many women would even entertain the idea of working, let alone working on the front line.  In fact, most men would simply never allow their wives to work at all.  That was not something that he had ever even thought about.  Emily was a writer – the two were as intertwined as to be undistinguishable from one another.  There was no Emily who did not write her thoughts down, work out her problems on paper, and chronicle her life in phrase and line.  To have asked her to do that would have been like asking her to stop breathing, it was physically impossible.

Emily reached in her bag and pulled out a stack of letters, offering them to the man in front of her.  They were a peace offering to smooth over her unexpected arrival, as much as they really were news from home.  “I had dinner with your parents and the Blythes just before coming over.  These are real letters from everyone.”  She watched as his eyes widened.

“Everyone?” his voice caught on the word.  He couldn’t quite say her name, not even to this woman.  But his eyes said it for him.

“On the bottom,” Emily smiled at him, gently.  “That may be a lot better news than seeing us tonight.”  She let him take the letters from her and then sat down in front of his desk.  He had not offered the seat, but it was either take it or fall down.  Emily realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was a bit light-headed.  She waited as the man in front of her tried to contain the urge to rip through the envelope to what she knew must be words of endearment from a sweetheart.  She had known Owen Ford for several years, meeting him first at a publishing party in Charlottetown.  They had become fast friends and often corresponded about things they were working on.  When she found out that she was coming here, she telegraphed him and he and his wife took the train to the Island to bring their greetings and gifts for their son.  The Blythes were family friends that had known Ken since he was a boy.  Emily also discovered that they were Walter Blythe’s parents.  That was a loss to the world of literature, for certain.  Emily had been on the jury of a poetry competition and read some of his work before the war.  He was a talent that never had the chance to be fully realized; “The Watchman” was proof of that.

Teddy sat down beside her and waited for his commander to speak.  He knew there was a girl that Ken left behind.  He didn’t say a lot about it, usually, but sometimes he would mention things that led Teddy to figure it out.  He asked Jem Blythe about it, but he didn’t have any idea who it might be, even though the two of them had been friends since childhood.  He worked with Jem regularly, but had not realized that Emily knew the other man’s parents as well.  Before they were married, he never realized how intimately entwined their lives would become.  He knew everything she did, every day.  He knew what she ate, what she wore, and how she felt.  Especially since Robin was born, he gained a far more practical knowledge of just how women worked.  To think that he did not even know she was acquainted with people now was oddly disturbing to him.  He had never thought it would be; never thought that he would care this much.  What else had he missed?  Seeing the pile of letters for Ken made him want to see what other wonderful pieces of home Emily had with her.  Hopefully there were more photographs of Robin.

Kenneth drew in a deep breath and looked at Emily in question, “How… How is she?” he finally managed.  He really had no right to ask this.  Rilla Blythe was not really his, as much as he might want her to be.  Although their kiss and his request that she wait for him had been impulsive, in a way, it was not in others.  Rilla was sweet, always had been.  What he didn’t expect was just how sweet, and how wonderful it was to be able to lose himself in her letters about home and the life they led there.  Her words of affection were innocent and delightful, but very real and heartfelt.  It had been three years now, and nothing had changed the way he felt, except to deepen the sense of belonging that he felt to her.

Emily smiled gently at him, “She’s very well, Kenneth.  She asked of you and told me to tell you that she has kept her promise.”  Emily had no idea what transpired between them, but when the quiet young girl flew out the door of the Four Winds Hotel to give her the letter, she knew something more than friendship was afoot.  Seeing Ken’s eyes now confirmed her suspicions.  She watched the other man carefully.  He was an attractive young man, built very similar to Teddy.  His dark hair was his father’s, but his eyes were his mother’s.  A handsome lad, overall, some ten years younger than both she and her husband, she guessed.  Rilla had been younger still, but this war made adults of everyone it touched long before their time.  This had to be something of a secret between them, as neither the Fords nor the Blythes mentioned it over dinner.

“Mmm…” he stepped away from the desk and stared into space for a long moment.  All he wanted to do was read her words, hold the paper to his face and feel the sense of her nearness – a nearness of days rather than weeks this time.  This letter was one no other eyes had seen and somehow that made it different.  The messenger who brought this letter was as respectful as she was unexpected.  Then he remembered what his father wrote to him, in the letter he read just this morning: _“The world is changing, son.  Nothing will be exactly as you left it at home, and you will find that those joining the fight are not the ones you might expect.”_   Emily’s presence here now made sense of it.

“My father knew you were coming,” it was a statement, not a question.  He had not met E.B. Starr before, but his father knew her well and thought highly of her poetry and novels.  He never mentioned that she was a journalist too.  Teddy spoke of her often, as did Perry and the others from her home town.  She would often send stories and they would read them aloud in the trenches at night to pass the time.  Her latest book was a big hit, especially among the nurses who knew the others in the series well.  The woman who wrote the beautiful lines of description was at strict odds with the woman who stood here, literally on the front lines, as a war correspondent.

Emily smiled, “He and your mother and sister send their love.”  She reached over and took Teddy’s hand in hers, just because she could.

Ken cleared his throat, “Well… Ted, can I speak to you alone?”  He had to deal with this, now.  As much as he wanted to sit down with this woman and have her tell him every detail about seeing Rilla, this was not the time or the place.  Emily Kent had to go home.

Teddy squeezed her hand, “If you are going to talk about Emily, she should be here.”  He looked over at her and saw the surprise on her face, then relief, and then pride.  He was very glad he took the chance and made that statement.

The ensuing discussion with Ken was much calmer than the one with the Commander had been.  Although he did not like the idea of a woman on the lines, in harm’s way, he reluctantly agreed that she could stay.  Teddy, who might have sent her home, did not play the one trump that he knew would euchre her.  He knew that if he said she was a danger to him, it would be over.  Somehow, after seeing her reaction to the bombing, and knowing how much she wanted to be here to experience this with him, he didn’t think that was exactly fair.  He also knew that he needed her desperately.

Finally, after warnings and conditions from Ken, and an allocation of standard protective equipment for Emily, they left the tent and stepped out into the cooler evening air.  Emily could breathe here.  Teddy picked up both her suitcase and typewriter and they walked slowly down the line of tents.  Everything here was uniform and organized in its similarity.  Teddy finally stopped outside of one that looked exactly like all of the others, “Listen, I bunk with Perry.  I’ll see what I can do in the morning, but for now, this will have to do.”  He looked at her desperately, hoping that the explanation was enough.  He wanted to make love with her again, but that too would have to wait until he could find a pharmacy.  This afternoon had been a surprise, but he was not going to take any more chances like that.

“Thank you,” Emily stepped closer to him.  “Thank you for believing in me.”  She knew it was hard for him to allow this, as liberal as he might be.

He set down her belongings and took her by the shoulders, “You have to promise me that you’ll be careful?  I can’t lose you.  Do you understand me?”  He could see her eyes in the moonlight and knew that she did, as always.  It was simply unbelievable that this morning he had doubted her and now she was here in his arms.

This kiss that drew them together was necessary and integral to both of them.

 

Morning came before light did here.  Emily woke instantly when Teddy’s arms shifted around her.  They were squashed together on the tiny cot that was his in the small tent he shared with Perry and she could not help but feel even the smallest movement.  Last night she had been asleep almost before her head hit the pillow – no wait, there was no pillow.  She was sleeping on Teddy’s arm instead.  He held her close and pressed his lips into the tiny space behind her earlobe.  She loved it when he did that.  When they were first married she discovered that her body possessed a great deal of uncharted territory that Teddy’s lips and hands found incredibly interesting.  It was interesting to her too.  She wanted to roll over, but that was impossible, without falling out of bed altogether.

“You smell like home,” he whispered.  He buried his face in her hair and shut his eyes in sheer bliss.  He thought he had forgotten what home smelled like, but he had not.  Emily was warm and clean in his arms, a feeling he had dreamed of for years.  He let his hands wander over her body, slowly mapping everything he remembered and the changes that three years had wrought.  It still felt like a dream to him, a beautiful, delicious dream that replaced the nightmare of existence here.

Emily threaded her fingers through his and held them to her lips.  “Wherever we are together is home, love.”

 

Perry Miller opened his eyes slowly.  It was still early, but the clerk would be around any moment, waking them all for the ritual of stand-to and today’s offering of hate at daybreak from the Germans.  Did they not want to sleep in, ever?  After the raid yesterday it was very likely that they would try something this morning, and it would not do anyone any good to stay abed for that.  As uncomfortable as his cot and his filthy clothing was, any extra sleep was still a bonus.  He was on sentry later today and that was more than cause to catch whatever shut eye he could now.  Just as he was about to drift off, he heard a soft sound from the cot beside him.  He looked over and saw Ted laying with his back to him.  Thank God he was alright!  He was very glad that his friend had actually made it back.  When they heard the air raid and he saw they hit the command post, he feared the worst.  Air raids were not common, but they were very damaging.  He didn’t really fear for his friend’s life, it was more that he feared having to deliver the news to Emily.  Then he heard it again.  His friend’s voice was intoned below a whisper as he spoke.

Perry could think of only one reason for any man to speak that way.  But, Ted was the last one he would expect to find with someone in his bed for comfort.  Sure, there were ladies in Paris when they were there on leave who had offered to both of them, but neither he nor his friend were interested.  The nurses were nice, and some of them were available too, but Ted had never given them a second look or thought, that he knew of.  Who and what was this?  After years of friendship with both Emily and her husband, it was his duty to sort this out.  “Ted?”  Perry’s voice rang out in the tiny space, a bit louder than he intended. 

Somehow, Teddy managed to roll over without dislodging his wife from the cot.  And he thought a bed without a footboard was claustrophobic at home!  “Morning Perry,” he said quietly, looking over at his friend in the dim light.

“Morning.  Where’s the new reporter guy?  I thought that was what you were up at command for?”  Perry didn’t see the expected extra body on the floor and hoped nothing had happened, and couldn’t see anything that would indicate there was anyone else with him.

“It was,” Teddy shrugged and sat up.  “A bit unexpected, that.”

Perry’s eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief, “Emily?  What in hell’s half acre are you doing here?”  Oh no!  “Where is Ilse?”  If his wife were here, she’d walk right up to the Kaiser and sock it to him.  Not that he hadn’t wanted to do that himself any number of times, it would just be simply unbelievable to have Ilse here!

“Ilse’s at home with the children,” Emily tried to sit up as well, but there was no room.  She looked around her curiously at the small space her husband lived in.  It was a canvas shell stretched over two poles and a ridge pole.  There was a pallet floor and a crude table made of boards with one chair.  Everything was impeccably neat, for all that.  She sank back down on the cot and looked at her husband.  He desperately needed to shave!  Although she didn’t mind it normally, he looked more haggard with a night’s growth of stubble on his cheeks.  “I have letters for you,” she nodded toward her bags, “And presents too, from everyone back home.”  Although she knew it wasn’t much, she could now appreciate just what they were going through here.  It was subsistence, as much as it was life.

Perry shook his head and then held his hand to his own forehead, “Do I have a fever?  What is going on here?”  He looked at Teddy for an answer but got only the sharp rap of the clerk’s knuckles on the wooden door of the tent.

“Stand to at oh-six-hundred lads, ten minutes,” then he moved on down the line.

Perry sighed and swung himself out of bed.  You never really undressed here, there was no point.  There was no problem with propriety in front of Emily anyway.  “Another day in paradise,” he muttered, and threw on his jacket and helmet.  “Maybe you can explain what the blazes you’re doing here while we wait for our neighbors across the field to wake us up again.

Teddy did likewise and then looked at her, “Come on then, you wanted to see what it was really like.”  The only thing missing from her attire would be a rifle.  Ken wouldn’t budge on that one, at least not officially.  He would have another talk with him today.  It wasn’t safe to be here with no protection and Teddy knew Emily understood enough about weapons to not hurt herself or anyone else with one.

Emily put on her boots and the helmet he found for her, then grabbed her messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder.  She braided her hair away from her face and followed the two men she had grown up with, out into a world she had never imagined. 

She walked with them toward the lines Teddy had spoken of last night.  Men were pouring from all of the tents around them, walking silently toward their places.  Teddy and Perry stopped at a wall of sandbags and checked their rifles automatically.  Teddy sank down beside her, “Alright, you stay down.  No matter what happens, you keep your head down.  If something happens to me, crawl back to the tent.  Do you understand?”

She nodded, her breath coming rapidly to her now, “Does something usually happen?”  Her teeth were chattering, involuntarily.  The sandbags behind her were damp and smelled like rotten straw and stale, rancid air.  She saw an enormous rodent scurry away from the booted feet that passed by their position.  She shuddered.

Teddy shrugged, and then touched her hand with his, “I love you.  Do you know how many mornings I have stood here and wished that I could tell you that?”  He squeezed her fingers and then stood up.  “Stay down, Emily.  Whatever happens, stay down.”

A sound like the snapping of Christmas crackers started it, then a hiss.  Emily felt the ground shake first, and then heard sound of the guns.  The impact of the bombs made the solid wall behind her vibrate.  Whatever they smelled like, she was glad of their protection.  She covered her ears and kept her head down, as he asked her to.

“Gas!” someone shouted.

Emily knew what that meant.  She had a gas mask to put on, thanks to Teddy and slid the awkward metal, rubber, and glass contraption over her face.  She didn’t want to inhale, but eventually she had to.  It smelled much as it had last night, only more pungent.  Everything around her was a yellow mist.  Teddy’s leg on one side of her and Perry’s on the other was all she could see.  The screams were there now, coming from all sides.  Someone stumbled in front of her, his eyes screwed shut to avoid the gas, his hands covered in blood.  Although Emily wanted to recoil, she didn’t.  She grabbed the mask that he could not put on himself and did it for him, then tore his clothing to create a bandage – God only knew how many of those she had rolled in the sitting room of New Moon for the Red Cross!  A lot of good they were doing here.  She couldn’t speak to him, so she just bandaged the gash on his wrist as best she could and pulled him to sit beside her, with his back to the sandbags.  She had to do something!  Even if they wouldn’t let her fight, she had to help someone, somehow!

Emily didn’t know how long it went on.  It seemed like hours.  It rained mud and dirt, but at least nothing more dangerous landed in their area.  She felt Teddy’s body move and heard the sound of his gun going off.  She felt him reload the weapon and stand again.  She heard a sound like thunder and then the wall behind her shifted.  She dove over the soldier she had helped earlier and covered her head with her arms.  The weight on top of her was excruciating, but she knew it was only sandbags.  Where was Teddy?

The noise stopped when the sun rose.  Emily still lay over the man she helped.  She didn’t want to move a muscle.  Teddy said to stay down, so that’s what she was going to do.

“Emily?  Emily, are you alright?” his voice was close to her.  He saw her go down and had seen her move since, so he did not fear the worst.  He kicked at the rat that was coming closer to investigate the situation.  It hissed at him like the cat it was the size of and scurried off.

She lifted her head cautiously and looked up.  He stood above her silhouetted by the first rays of the sun.

“Honey, come on, get up.  It’s over for now,” he swallowed hard.  Mornings were the worst, and this was a bad one.  He realized in that instant that he had been incredibly selfish.  He sent Emily his sketches because he had to share the pain with someone.  What he didn’t realize was that he never wanted Emily to understand this kind of pain, ever!  No one he loved should ever have to see this.

Emily sat up slowly and removed the gas mask, quickly replacing her helmet.  “He needs a hospital,” she said, indicating the man who lay beneath her.  She looked up at Teddy again, expecting him to hurry over and help her.  He didn’t.

Teddy shook his head, “Emily, get up.”  He bent down to move the body of a soldier from where it lay across her legs.

Emily’s eyes widened in disbelief; it wasn’t a sandbag that landed on her at all.  “But…” she didn’t finish the sentence.  “But why?” she whispered.

He knew his wife well enough to know what her question meant.  Teddy shut his eyes, “I have no idea, love.  No one does anymore.  You have to just leave it.”  He knew this would be hard on her.  It was hard on all of them.  He felt like a cold-hearted bastard every time something like this happened and he lived to see it.  He knew that she was trying to absorb it.  “We have to go back, Emily.  We have inspection and then breakfast.  Come on,” he pulled her with him and away from the bodies that lay strewn about in this first line of trenches.  They would be gone by midday – if they were lucky.  If not, someone would move them tonight.  Summer was bad for that – the flies and the smell got worse in the heat.

Emily had not thought herself particularly squeamish before now.  She never batted an eye when Cousin Jimmy slaughtered a pig or cow, and could pluck and clean game herself.  This was vastly different, somehow.  Teddy was pulling her somewhere, and it was all she could do to keep the rising tide of vomit in her throat from overwhelming her.  “Stop, please!”  She bent over and rested her hands on her knees, looking at the ground.  She shut her eyes, but that just made it worse.  All she could see was the yellow-hued version of the dead man she thought she was saving.  She opened them again and took in a deep breath, but the air was as dirty as the ground.  The smell that affronted her last night was riper in the sunlight.  She would not be sick!  Her eyes burned, but she remembered Teddy writing that rubbing them made it worse.  “I’m sorry…  I…”

Teddy stood beside her.  He nodded briefly at Ken, when he passed.  Everyone was sick the first time they saw it, some people many more times than just once.  He waited until Emily stood up beside him.  “Are you okay?”

She nodded and looked at him as they walked down the line of tents, “How do you just see that every day?”  Emily watched for his answer carefully.  How much of her husband had this war stolen?

That was a very good question.  Teddy thought about it as they walked back toward their tent.  He wanted to tell her just not to think about it, but that was impossible.  She might be able to blot out today’s horror, but what about when today was every day?  He opened the door for her.  Somehow the gesture was enough to bring back reality for him.  There was a world other than this; a world where horror was not the norm.  There was a world where people were kind to one another, where people thought about small things and made beauty.  “You have to look beyond it, I guess, or just look at minute details and focus on them instead of the whole.  Emily if you want to leave, you can.”  Seeing his wife standing here, covered in mud and blood and God knew what else, was not what he wanted for her.

Emily stood in front of him and rested her head on his chest, “But you can’t.  I can’t leave you here to this.  I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”  She held onto him tightly.  She swallowed hard and then shook her head, “I came to see what you were seeing.  I came to write it down so that everyone will know and no one will let it happen, ever again.  One day was not long enough for that.”  She looked up at him, “I’ll stay.  What happens now?”  Practical matters were easier to deal with.  Murray could take over in those.

The routine of the camp was easy to pick up.  It was the same thing every day.  They rose before the sun, stood and waited for whatever attack might come or push forward their side would make.  Most days, Emily went with Teddy and Perry with her notebook in hand.  She learned to write as she crouched in the trenches, detailing the sights, sounds, and smells of what was going on around her.  As Teddy suggested, she focused on small things.  She described the water, the mud, the sound of the different types of shells in detail, excerpts of which she would insert into her editorials.

On the days they were to push forward, Ken would not let her anywhere near the lines – it was simply too dangerous.  Although he issued her a rifle and a small amount of ammunition for her own protection, he would not allow her to take part in it.  On those days, she went to the mess area and helped prepare what passed for breakfast.  The cooks were not necessarily skilled in their area at all.  Most were soldiers on relief or those who had wounds that were healing and would eventually go back to fight.  The Scots in her could not stand by and allow porridge to be made quite so poorly, so on the days she was in the mess that was her prerogative.  She rose even before Teddy and Perry so that it would have time to cook properly.  The men began to look forward to the fact that they had actual porridge, rather than dry oats in water.  All in all, her presence in the camp did not create any of the difficulties that the commander and Ken feared it might.  In fact, she boosted morale, rather than causing a problem.  Instead of waiting for her stories to arrive in the mail, the men now realized that they could approach her and ask for them.  The first time this happened, Emily was surprised and flattered, but she found that it was hard to keep up with the demand.  Her Jimmy Book of ideas was dwindling as she quickly wrote out the light-hearted stories they wanted to hear.  Poetry was easier – she could rewrite a lot of her lexicon from memory, and ended up doing so for the men who asked for it.  In particular, the Maritimers, and those from Toronto and Montreal wanted her descriptions of their homes.  Emily fervently wished she had done more travelling in Canada so she could write for those from out West as well.

The larger schedule – when men were in the trenches, when they were on patrol, and when they had relief – was only beginning to make sense to her.  As a battalion, the group of soldiers that fought with her husband would typically spend seven days on the front line, three in the support trenches, and then twelve in reserve.  She had arrived during one of the reserve periods for Teddy’s group.  Although he was due for rest, his ability to make maps made his schedule erratic.  She had yet to discover how much so.

Explaining her presence to those around her was relatively simple.  Once they saw that she actually was a writer and was working, she became a part of their battalion.  Explaining to Perry about his wife’s financial situation was something else, and a much more delicate matter.  It took her almost two weeks to find the right time to bring it up.

“But I don’t understand,” Perry shook his head.  “I send her money from here, and she’s doing my job in Charlottetown…”

“And not being paid for it!” Emily interrupted.  Finances were not Emily’s favorite arena.  She had deplored every second that she spent with Teddy at his lawyers’ and banks in New York and Toronto.  She dreaded the packets of paper that would arrive every month and force her to make choices that she did not fully understand.  But, she was more than thankful he had the forethought to plan for an extended absence and had explained it all to her when Ilse came to her and explained the situation she was in.

 

A fortnight before her departure, Emily heard Ilse’s quiet knock on her door one morning.  Ilse was usually already in town at this time of day, so seeing her in the doorway was unexpected.  Seeing the look of fear and wretchedness on her friend’s face told her something more was afoot.

They went for a walk beyond the garden, on the shore where they had played as children, building castles of hopes and dreams in the sand and casting their wishes into the waves.  Emily wanted to absorb all of this, not knowing when she might see it again.  But the Ilse at her side would not allow her to do that.  Her silence spoke louder than her voice ever could.  Ilse was only quiet when her world was really crumbling.  “What is it honey?” she asked gently.

Ilse took a deep breath.  She had never been so utterly afraid in her entire life.  Not only did she not know exactly what she was going to say to Emily – she didn’t even understand it herself – she was also damned sure that her husband would throttle her for whatever it was that she had done wrong to cause this.  She didn’t know what else to do, so she thrust the letter from the bank at her friend.  “Read this,” she said softly.

Emily glanced at it and looked up at her best friend in complete surprise, “This is a foreclosure notice, Ilse.  You’re going to lose your house?”

Ilse nodded miserably, “I guess…  I just feel so stupid!  I didn’t even know that we didn’t really own it.  Perry never said anything about it before he left.”  Her husband hadn’t even mentioned money when he left.  Of course he told her he was going to the office for the day and Emily had to tell her he left for the front with Teddy, but she had already exorcised that demon, numerous times to the detriment of a good gamut of glassware.  “I haven’t been too good about picking up the mail there, but this was delivered to the office for Perry, so I opened it like I do everything else there.  Emily what am I supposed to do?  I don’t have that kind of money.  I don’t have any money, really.  I spend it all on the kids and on travelling for work.  I just…” she shook her head in defeat and slumped down in the sand, then looked at her friend desperately.  Emily was incredibly practical and she also seemed to understand numbers.  Maybe she could figure this out.

Emily sat down beside Ilse immediately, “Don’t worry about it Ilse, I’ll give you the money.  You can’t lose your house.  I don’t know enough about it to know why this is happening, but at least I can help.”  She looked at the paper again to confirm the number she read the first time.  It would be close, but she would just be able to make it without touching the money she planned to leave with Allan Burnley and Aunt Katie to look after everything in her absence.  Between the two of them, they would see that Robin, Cousin Jimmy, and Aunt Laura were taken care of.  It seemed that she might need to make provisions for six more now, though.

Ilse shook her head, “You can’t do that, Emily!  I was just hoping that the kids and I could stay here.  Perry is going to hit the roof when he finds out I’ve done this.”  She shuddered at the thought.  Her husband’s temper was legendary, among their friends and in parliament.  Their marriage was fraught with disagreements – it always had been – but normally, they weren’t about anything important.  If she had to be honest, she’d say they just argued to see who won and then make up.  They never had anything like this happen to them and she knew this fight would be epic, and no amount of apologizing would make it better.

“Of course you can stay here!”  Emily said evenly, “And believe me, Perry will have to do a whole lot of thinking before I _let_ him fly off the handle about this.  It is not your fault, Ilse!  We will take care of it before I go so you don’t have to worry.”  She squeezed her friend’s hand and gave the letter back to her.

Ilse looked at Emily with resignation, “Let’s be realistic.  I’ve never even seen a number that big.  You don’t have that kind of money; no one does these days.”  Emily was sometimes impossibly optimistic about things.  For all of her Murray practicality, she sometimes didn’t see things as they really were.  This whole business about going to the front was ridiculous – even she would never have conjured up something that crazy!  Lord knows that she would fight to the death for women’s rights and the right to vote, but equality?  That was never going to happen.

“Ilse, the money isn’t a problem.  I just need to know that you are all taken care of before I go,” Emily took a deep breath.  Sometimes she wondered if leaving were the right thing to do.  It felt like it was, most of the time, but not when she looked at her daughter or when something like this came up.  Fortunately, it was only money.  Her last book was doing well and everything else was in good order, so this was something she could easily do for her friend, thanks to the security her husband had given her before he left.

 

Perry looked over at Teddy, “I’ll pay you back.  Every cent, as soon as this thing is over.  Ilse should never have let this happen.  I’m sorry,” he offered his hand to his friend to shake on it and try to make amends.

Emily interrupted, “Like bloody hell!”  Her outburst was completely out of character for her and very un-Murray-like, both in volume and language.  “You’ll pay _me_ back every cent and it’s you who should be apologizing _to_ Ilse, not _for_ her!”  She saw Perry try to interrupt, but cut him off abruptly, “You didn’t tell her you were enlisting.  You didn’t prepare her for being alone with five children.  You send her some of your wages and then blame her for not paying a mortgage you didn’t even tell her she had?  That’s insulting, Perry Miller!”  There was a part of Emily that felt an immense relief in saying these things.  She wanted Perry to understand at least some of what he put his wife through when he left.  She continued, “That woman spends all of her time raising your children and doing the job you left behind.  She gets up in front of a roomful of men and fights for the very rights you don’t even give her, and she does it for you.  Do you not see what a thoughtless hypocrite you are?”

Perry blinked and swallowed.  He lived with the Murray’s long enough to have seen the look before, and had been on the receiving end of it from both Elizabeth and Emily in the past, but this was different.  Emily’s words and the truth they carried cut through him like a knife.  There were times when her ability to size up a situation was uncanny and frightening in its acuity.  “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ilse, he just thought she wouldn’t be able to handle knowing about it.  He also thought this damned war was going to be over in a month.

Teddy cleared his throat.  He had been silent the entire time, watching the exchange between his wife and best friend.  Emily’s anger was not something he ever liked to deal with.  She did not yell or throw things, as her friend did.  Instead, she would look at you and cut your heart to ribbons with a few accurate assessments of the situation.  “Emily, let’s get some air.  Perry has some thinking to do.”  He took his wife’s arm and they stepped outside into an amethyst dusk.  Small guns were clattering somewhere down the line and there was a flurry of activity as messengers rode to and from the commanders’ tents and men hurried to and fro.  It was going to be a busy night, from the looks of things.  Teddy’s work was done mostly at night, after all of the day’s fighting was complete.  He and one or two others would go under the cover of darkness to listening posts in no-man’s-land.  He would scout changes in the enemy position, note them, and come back to draw a new map of their situation.  He had been told by Ken that he was on duty tonight, as a matter of fact, his first tour out into the field proper since Emily’s arrival.  He hadn’t told her that he was going yet; there was still an hour or so for that.

Emily took a deep breath, “It wasn’t quite true, what I said about the money.”  She looked at him cautiously, fearing his rebuke about this and the matter of his Aunt Katie’s inheritance.  Although he hadn’t said anything about it in any of his letters, Katharine Gardiner had assured her that no male member of the Kent family would accept what she had done.  “I did lend Ilse my money, but I had to use some of yours for other things.”  She didn’t usually touch anything that he had not earmarked as hers, specifically.  She managed the investments and deposited all of the revenue in an account set up for that purpose, but didn’t spend it.

“What other things?” he asked quietly.  He didn’t really care.  Money meant nothing to him, really.  Before his father’s fortune became his, he had very little.  Money was just a bonus.  He cared that he could provide for his wife and daughter and give them everything they deserved, that was all.  However, his solicitors did send him periodic reports and he was pleasantly surprised.  Although Emily was more cautious about some things than he might have been, she had made some very strategic moves that would definitely pay off in the long run.

Emily swallowed, “I bought some land.  The Tansy Patch, of course, and then the old Murray shore parcel came up for sale.  My royalties weren’t all in at the time so I borrowed some for that and paid it back.  New Moon needed some repairs and I had to put in electricity for Dr. Burnley, so…” she looked up at him nervously, fearing what he might say.

Instead, he waved his hand in dismissal, “That’s nothing, and you know it.  You’ve handled everything at least as well as I would have.  It’s not my money anyway, it’s ours.”

Emily shook her head in disbelief.  Sometimes she really was amazed at the man she had married.  He was not like anyone else’s husband, and more wonderful than even she had imagined he would be about matters of independence.  “I didn’t realize just how much trust and faith you put in me.  You know I have no idea about any of this, but you let me handle it anyway.  I never realized that no one else did that until this thing came up with Ilse.”  She squeezed his hand, “Thank you for that.”

Teddy looked at her seriously, “None of it means anything to me, as long as you and Robin are safe.  I hope you understand that?”

Emily pursed her lips and nodded.  There was more to be said, but she wasn’t sure that this was the time or the place.  Some of the circumstances around her arrival here were not exactly as easy to explain as others.

“Emily,” he said quietly, “Maybe I do some things differently than other men do.  I don’t know.  I never had a father, so I am just making this up as I go along.  I know that I never want to be apart from you like we were before.”  He sighed as he watched a wagonload of wounded head away from the lines.  He thought about where he had to go tonight and tried to gather the courage to tell her.  “I want you to be my partner in this.  We have to be equal and both be able to say what we need to with one another.”  He looked at her hopefully.  This was not going to be easy news to deliver.

Emily swallowed hard, “Then I need to tell you something.  You won’t like it, but you need to know.  I am not going to keep it a secret from you; we’ve had too many of those in the past.”  Here it was.  She needed to say this now.

 

Dean Priest looked up from the letter, absolutely stunned by what he had just read.

“Should I do it?” Emily demanded expectantly.  When she finally made the time to open the letter from her editor that arrived on the same day as Teddy’s parcel, she had been shocked by its contents as well.  She knew after seeing Teddy’s sketches that she could never really write about this without seeing it firsthand; to do so would be dishonest in a vital and very personal way.  But to be asked to go and see it for herself was something she never expected.

Dean took a moment to look at her carefully.  Her note inviting him to come over had been uncharacteristically abrupt and demanding – not like the Emily he knew at all.  The woman who stood in front of him was not the tearful, scared Emily he had seen two days ago.  There was a determination and an ironclad obstinacy in her very posture that he had only ever seen when she spoke of her work.  She was bareheaded again – Emily had always disliked hats.  But her hair was held back with a pair of jeweled combs and knotted low at her neck.  Her dress was a dark navy-purple of simple, classic lines and was more fitted than most women wore on the Island.  Worth, he guessed – you could spot Paris a mile away.  What struck him most was that she was completely unconcerned about any of it.  This was not his Star any longer.  He looked at her evenly, “Do it.”

Emily turned and walked down the flagstone steps to the lower part of the garden.  It had never been anyone’s except hers, at least in his mind.  He followed her, more slowly, “They don’t know you’re a woman, do they?”

Emily shrugged, “They never asked.”  She leaned forward on the gate that led out to the shore and rested her chin on her hand, her forehead wrinkled in thought.

Once, Dean might have dared to smooth those lines away.  He had to ignore the urge to do that now.  “It is an amazing opportunity.  If you can see past the obvious horror, you’ll find what you’re missing in your description.”

She turned to look at him, the lines easing away now, “That’s what I thought.  I know that I can’t capture it without seeing it, not really.  But…”

“But what?” Dean asked carefully.  “But your husband would never let you do it?”  It came out more acerbically than he meant it.  He still couldn’t say his name, even now.  She was never anyone except Emily Starr to him.

Emily served him with an appraising stare that cut through him like a knife.  It was the Murray look and something else that she could not control, “What goes on between Teddy and I is none of your business.”  She moved away from him quickly to a bench in the shade of an old willow tree.  To tell the truth, she had never really thought that Teddy might not want her to do this.  She ignored that and looked up at Dean, “What I was going to say was that it means leaving here, leaving my daughter.  I don’t like that.”

Dean refused to believe that Emily was a mother.  _His_ Emily wasn’t, and never would have been.  The Emily who wrote was not.  But, it appeared that the Emily who sat before him was.  He had met the child; an odd-looking, pixie creature far more fey than human.  Her pointed ears were her mother’s legacy to her, but she had none of Emily’s classic, regal beauty.  The red hair was definitely Archibald Murray’s.  All in all, she was a tiny, bewitching little imp with a real gift for playing the piano.  He refused to see any part of her father in her; that admission would mean something he did not want it to.

Emily continued, “But, I suppose that she won’t miss me too much, what with the full house that we have around here now.”

Dean spoke quietly, “Of course she’ll miss you, as you will her.  But Emily, you will never have this chance again, ever.”  He looked at the ocean as he continued, “The world has changed, whether we like it or not.  Nothing will ever be the same as it was before this.  You will be fettered to the old Victorian gestalt if you don’t change with it.”  Emily was never one for chains, even those that might have bound her with love.

In this respect, Dean knew her well.  Emily’s aversion to being restrained by anyone or anything was palpable in her words, “I’ll do it.  I knew I would.  I just had to hear that from you.”  She knew that the words were true as she said them.  Dean was her sounding board in a way that no one else was or ever could be - even Teddy.  Oh, how that hurt to admit!

Dean didn’t want to say what was on the tip of his tongue.  He knew, somehow that what he was feeling from Emily was not what he had always hoped it might be.  But still, there were some things that could not go unsaid between them, any longer.  “Star, what I said about your husband?  That was mine.  _I_ wouldn’t let you go.  If you were mine I would never let you do this.”  He held up his hand and came to sit beside her when he saw that she was about to say something and interrupt him.  “Please Star, let me finish?”

Emily held back the words that she had been about to say, regretfully.  She did not need to hear this now or ever.  It would only mean the beginning of the end again.

“Emily,” he said softly, “You know that you are the only woman in the world for me.  You’ve always known that, I think.  But you don’t belong to me, any longer.  Although you don’t really know it yet, you actually don’t belong to anyone, other than yourself.  Selfishly, if anything were to happen to you, my life would be over.  But for the Emily you truly are, the only choice is to go.”  He looked at her and took her hand, his sardonic green eyes softened with the love he felt for her.  If only…

In spite of herself, Emily moved toward him.  When her lips touched his, she felt a shock course through him.  Once the conscious decision was made, she found it easier to go through with it.  Dean had never kissed her, ever, not even when they were engaged.  In some deeply hidden part of herself, she had always wondered if that would have made a difference.  When he responded to her, Emily shut her mind off to everything else and let herself feel it.  It would be better if his lips were warmer, like Teddy’s.  The thought shattered everything else for her, and she pulled away.  She heard Dean draw a ragged breath and shook her head in regret.  She should never have done that.

“Emily, I…”

She turned back to him, “I don’t belong to you.  You set me free.  All those years ago, you let me go without ever even kissing me once.  I didn’t come back to you, and I never will, but I owed you a kiss, I think, especially now.”  She turned away and looked out at the sea.  The air carried the salt-tang of the miles between her and the man she loved.  “Teddy and I belong to each other, and in the same way, we each own the other.  I am not my own, Dean.  I don’t want to be.  The bonds we choose are the ones that set us free.  I wish you could know the joy that brings me, Dean.”

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest.  For some seconds she had been his, surely that meant something to her?  He said, “I could never feel that way, Emily.  I could never give all of myself like that.”  That was not true.  The woman in front of him owned his soul in a way that he could never fully control.  That was the pain in all of this, really.  She could control him with a look, a gesture, a mere suggestion, while in her own life he was virtually nonexistent.  He shook his head violently, to rid his brain of the fog her kiss enveloped it in, “Thank you for the kiss; it means more to me than you know.  I won’t be here when you leave, but please know that if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask.”  He hoped that she understood what that promise meant.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered.

 

Teddy stared at her for a long moment.  Shock and disbelief were only passing emotions as the barrage of anger and mistrust nearly knocked him over.  “And then what?” he demanded.  Mere moments ago he had worried that she might over-react to his patrol assignment tonight.  Now that was the furthest thing from his mind.

Emily shrugged, “I packed up my things, settled all of the business at home, and came here.  That’s all.”  She read his eyes, saw the absolute blackness that meant he was furious, and knew that she needed to respond with only the truth.

“You expect me to believe that you only kissed him once?  What kind of a fool do you think I am?”  Teddy had never wanted to hit anyone before with this kind of vengeance.  Oddly enough, he didn’t give a damn about Dean Priest.  It was his wife that he wanted to lash out at.

Emily braced herself, “You’re not a fool, Teddy.  But yes, I do expect you to believe me.  Why on earth wouldn’t you?”  She looked at him in question.  She had known this would not go well, but this was worse than she expected.

“You kissed him!  You!”  he roared at her, oblivious to the curious and embarrassed glances from his comrades.

“Let’s go inside Teddy, and talk about this in private, alright?”  Although she was deeply connected to the emotion he was trying to deal with, Emily was aware that they were becoming a bit of a spectacle.

“It’s not alright!” he thundered, then turned on his heel and walked away from her.  He wanted to kill someone right now, and if he didn’t get out there and take his anger out on the Germans, it would not end well.

“Teddy!” Emily hurried to catch up to him.  “Teddy, please!”  She reached for his hand but he shook her away, as if she were something evil and unclean.  She stopped and watched him go down the line and disappear behind a cartload of supplies.  His boots were crushing the mud beneath them, leaving heavy, angry footprints.  A Murray did not chase after a man.  Emily felt a hollow, very un-Murray-like emptiness inside her as she turned and walked back to her tent.

 

 


	16. "Turning Tables"

_“Close enough to start a war_

_All that I have is on the floor_

_God only knows what we're fighting for_

_All that I say, you always say more.”_

                                                                                            _\- Adele – “Turning Tables”_

                In the three weeks since Emily arrived in France, she had spent very few hours without Teddy.  Most of those were during the day when he was working on something for the Captain and she was writing or talking to soldiers, nurses, and the locals who frequented their camp.  Even if he was on patrol he would join her as soon as his duty was finished.  She had never been alone at night.  Teddy had arranged for her to have a portion of the stores tent, and although he was still officially bunking with Perry, he spent every night with her.  That night he didn’t.

                Emily sighed and rolled out of the straw pallet on the board floor that passed as a bed.  She had endured white nights before.  Why should this one be any different?  She pulled out the blackout lantern and lit it, setting it on top of the crate that served as her writing desk.  It was empty so that she could tuck her feet into it.  She pulled a pair of Teddy’s boots on to keep her feet warm.  She couldn’t type at this hour, it would definitely disturb the men who slept around her and that wasn’t fair.  Her Jimmy book would have to do.  It was not as if she was without work that needed to be done.

                She had sent her first two stories off to her editor within days of arriving in France.  Although the cable back had been short, she knew she was on the right track.  Three more were already in the mail to Toronto and there were two neatly typed M.S. on her desk for this week and another that was almost finished.  It was none of these that required her attention tonight.

                The outline of her new book was coming together quickly and demanded a lot of her time.  This book was different than the last three had been.  Rather than revisiting the Applegaths once again, Emily chose to set this book in Toronto.  Her characters were the Milburns, a PEI family transplanted there by virtue of a holiday gone awry.  It had started out as a story for one of the boys from Toronto, who wanted to hear about how ‘foreigners’ felt when they visited his home town.  But as she began writing, it developed into something much longer.  Now that she had made the decision to proceed there was much to be done: developing storylines, crafting the setting in a town she had only visited once, and convincing her main character Michael Milburn that his eyes were really brown and not the blue that he insisted they were.

                Over the next two days, Emily wrangled her errant brood of fictional children into a cohesive family, albeit one oddball with blue eyes.  She didn’t go out on the line with the men as she had done with Teddy.  Somehow that would not be appropriate, even though they would have all willingly taken her along.  Instead, she remained in her tent and worked incessantly.  When she surfaced to eat or go to the mess tent to make breakfast for the soldiers, she was absolutely miserable.  She tried to tell herself that it was just because she was tired; she was burning the candle at both ends between her columns for the Star and her new book.  But, as a woman, long used to the ribbons Teddy Kent could so easily cut her heart into, she knew she was just kidding herself.

 

                Perry Miller sat down beside her at the table in the mess tent, somewhat timidly, “Hey Em.”

                Emily shook herself from her doldrums to nod an acknowledgement.  She assumed that Teddy was sleeping in the tent with his friend and had told him what happened.  She wasn’t ashamed of what she had done, but she knew that it didn’t look good.  The very fact that Teddy had avoided her completely for the past two days was testament to how seriously he was taking this.  They had never argued like this before and she really had no idea how to deal with it.

                Perry Miller was a practical man, an attorney, and a statesman.  But above all, he was Emily’s friend.  As embarrassed as he was about the mortgage issue, he knew that he needed to stop avoiding her and reassure her that everything would be alright.  He knew that she must be worried sick; he had seen her pacing her tent during the day and knew that she was preoccupying herself with work at every opportunity.  Coming here to see her husband was one thing, but staying behind in camp while he crossed no-man’s-land to map enemy positions was another.  Some things were better left unknown.  “Don’t worry, Emily.”  He tried to be sympathetic without giving her cause to worry any more than she already was.  “He’ll be fine.  He’s done this a dozen times and he always comes back.  Captain Ford only sends him out with the best.”  He tried to smile at her when he saw the shocked expression on her face.

                Emily had been watching four peas attempt to float in the moat of congealed grey gravy surrounding her mashed potatoes.  Even if she had been hungry, this would not be at all appetizing.  She looked up at Perry sharply in question when she registered the words he said.  “What did you say?”  Could he possibly mean that Teddy had gone to the front line?

                Perry shoveled in a bite of stew and grimaced at the taste, then sighed, “It’s a helluva thing, I guess, actually knowing what he’s doing.  Probably was easier when the danger was less specific, huh?”  He looked at Emily’s ashen face and knew that he was absolutely right.  He continued, “He’s usually out five or six days – a week tops.  It’s a big deal that he can do this.  No other unit has this kind of scout.  Last time he came back and drew for eight solid hours and the maps were incredible.  He saved hundreds of lives.”

                “He…he draws the enemy positions, then?”  Emily barely squeaked out the words.  Her throat felt frozen and her heart was hammering in her chest.  She had not known he was going, he hadn’t said a word about it to her.  She knew that part of the reason why he spent less time in the trenches than some of the others was because he drew maps.  He had never told her what the maps were about.

                “Uh huh…” Perry tore off a chunk of bread and swallowed a mouthful of his powdered milk to soften it.  “Yeah, he goes out, mostly at night and maps any changes in the German position – watch towers, guns, trenches, minefields…  He also plots the landmarks our guys need to know about so they don’t get turned around when they go over the top.”

                “It’s important that he do this.”  It was a statement, not a question.  Part of her was relieved – Teddy was not staying away because of their argument.  The other, much larger part, was now more afraid than she had ever been in her entire life.  She clenched her hands and bowed her head to say a quick prayer, “God, keep him safe, please?”  She didn’t add the more personal line that she wanted and desperately needed to.  _Don’t let him die without knowing how much I love him.  Don’t let it end for him as it did for his father._

                Perry put his arm around her slim shoulders, “Hey, it’ll be alright.  Have faith, Emily.  You’ve gotta have faith.”  Perry had never really noticed how small Emily was before.  Ilse felt different in his arms; much more solid.  Emily was slight and ephemeral.  He hugged her closer for a second, wishing that he could give her some of his strength to help her deal with this and at the same time wanting his wife to hug instead.

                Emily nodded and thanked Perry for his support, then excused herself quickly to go back to her tent.  When she let the wooden door slam behind her, she fell to her knees and sobbed.

 

                Jem Blythe crawled a scant few more feet forward on his forearms and then motioned to the man behind him.  “There!” he whispered.  “That’s new, isn’t it?”

                Teddy joined him silently, slipping the tiny notebook from his breast pocket as he did.  He pulled the stub of a pencil from where it resided between his teeth.  The guard tower had been erected, somewhat hastily, since their last sorti a month ago.  There was a machine gun on a tripod and two or possible three soldiers manning it.  He could see two red dots of light from their cigarettes, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  There were usually three – two for the gun and one sniper.  The structure itself was leaning to the right and looked more than unstable.  It would be easy to take down with a carefully placed charge, but that wasn’t their job tonight.  He noted the position on the page in front of him in relation to the known landmarks.  “Got it,” he nodded.  “Let’s go and take a look at their trench line again.  I think I missed a sentry post last night.”

Jem agreed, silently, and the two men crawled at a snail’s pace yet even closer to the enemy lines.  When he’d been given this assignment the first time he thought it was babysitting masked as suicide.  What in God’s name was the army doing sending a painter out into the field as a scout?  He had thought that this artist guy would come up with some pretty pictures of Prussian horses or something like that.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  Kent mapped distance, elevation, and landmarks like a photographer might, only better because he could do it instantly.  He could return to camp and within hours, update all of the existing maps with brand new information.  He was also a great guy to hang out with.  He was smart, interesting to talk to, and an Islander, born and bred.  Jem thought he was a bit too quiet on this trip, but Ken had mentioned something about his wife arriving in camp unexpectedly.  How a woman would ever get on the line was beyond him.  Must be a nurse or something.  He kept crawling, slowly, knowing that his friend would keep up.  He was startled when he felt Ted’s hand on his shoulder suddenly.  The grip was like steel claws digging into his flesh.

                Teddy heard her voice.  It wasn’t the haunting memory of it that had kept him awake since they quarreled.  It wasn’t words that he didn’t want to hear or acknowledge.  This was the other voice, the one he had only heard twice before in his life.  “Run Teddy!  Run!”

                “Run Jem!  We have to run now!” he whispered in a hiss and then took off across the treacherous wasteland.  He heard his comrade mutter a curse under his breath and then the whole world exploded.  There were lights and gunshots everywhere.  The gun on the tower was raining fire on them.  He felt something red hot burn a stripe across his left bicep, but he ignored it.  The echo of her words in his head made him keep moving.  “Run Teddy!  Run!”  He dodged a grenade that landed too close and dove headfirst into a foxhole behind a bale of wire.  The grenade didn’t go off and Jem hurtled himself in only seconds later.  They had both been saved by a mistake in science and the supernatural voice in his head that was anything but logical.

                “Christ Almighty!” Jem shook his head.  “How could they have seen us?”  He took a deep breath and tried to slow his heart rate.  That one had been far too close for comfort.  He didn’t bother to wonder how Ted knew what was going to happen.

                Teddy had taken a moment to get his bearings, “Not us.  Them!”  He pointed to the platoon of men who had decided to make a charge only about two hundred yards east of where they were.  They were a scattered and broken band now.  Every man for himself was all well and good, but when those behind you told you to charge, you did.  Mere soldiers had no say in the matter and it was often at their peril.

                “Bloody Brits!”  Jem shook his head in defeat.  “They had no idea about that tower.  If they had just waited two hours we could’ve saved them.”  He took a deep breath to hold back the emotion.  This was so pointless!  The part of him that had been born to be a doctor hated every minute of this.  All this death, for nothing!  He looked at his friend in thanks and noticed the stain on his shirt.  “Ted, you’re bleeding!”  He moved closer and saw the gash on his friend’s arm that was soaking his shirt sleeve with a deep dark green.  You couldn’t see the blood at night at least.  It just looked like water.

                Teddy looked down at it and shrugged, “No more than you.”  He pulled a bandage from the meager first aid kit that was standard issue to them all and wrapped up his friend’s left leg.  It too was soaked and there was a small hole in the fabric that belied the cause.  “Can you run on it?”  He looked at him critically.  Jem was a strong man, but he had lost a lot of blood.

                Jem had felt the bee sting briefly as he ran, but hadn’t time to think about it.  Now that he did, he knew it was more serious than his friend’s injury.  “How far are we?”  He held the bandage in place while Teddy tied the knot deftly.  The pain was a dull throbbing heat now and he knew that wasn’t good.

                “Quarter-mile, tops.  Okay?  I’ll be with you every step of the way.”  He tried to find Emily with his mind again, but couldn’t.  She had saved his life again, but was it only so that he could be mowed down mere inches from his own lines?  He somehow didn’t think so.  He took a deep breath and let every shred of the anger and betrayal he had felt leave him.  She had called to him and he heard her.  That was far more than a kiss would ever be.  He knew this in the fundamental part of his being that had wrestled with his anger since he left camp that evening.

                Jem looked at his friend in the dim light of almost dawn and nodded.  “Okay, but the sooner the better.  It’s getting light and this is getting worse.  On three?”

                Teddy took a breath in and nodded back.  “Three.”

 

                Emily sat up sharply.  Her breath was shallow and quick and she could feel her pulse racing like fire in her veins.  She stared into the lantern and saw nothing.  Had she slept?  Had she dreamt?  There was a picture in front of her eyes that she couldn’t erase – two silhouettes against sun-bright light.  She shook herself and looked around the tent.  The clock on her desk said five o’clock in the morning.  She shivered, but when she made to pull her shawl around her more tightly, she noticed the stripe of charred fabric on her left upper arm.  She pulled it back and saw the angry weal of a burn on her own flesh.  Now she felt the heat and gritted her teeth against it.  She looked at the lantern again.  Somehow, she knew he was safe.  She didn’t know how she knew, she just did.  It was like taking a breath after days underwater, straining to inhale.  Her teeth were chattering and she pulled on his wool great coat over her shirt and then found her trousers and boots.  She needed first aid.  She stepped out into the early morning light as the clatter of guns on the line echoed back to her.

 

                He stood in the doorway of their tent and watched her.  The lines flashed across the canvas in his mind like lightening.  Black and grey were etched on cream.  Charcoal – that was what he would use for this.  His kit slid soundlessly to the floor and he removed his helmet almost unconsciously.  He raked his hand through his hair and set the protective headgear down on a box.  He never took his eyes off her.  Her hands were poised over the keys on her typewriter and her eyes were shut tightly, crimson lips moving slightly as she worked out the words in her head.  Her tongue darted to moisten them and then she pursed them together in realization.  The expression on her face was, to him, grace and passion; his muse awaiting her own.  As the inspiration solidified, her long, slender fingers flew across the keys at a furious pace.  The regular bell of the carriage return was faint, compared to the rush of emotion that he felt to see her again.  It was more than joy, more than relief.

                She wore one of her simple white shirts and his wool sweater, nothing else.  Her hair was braided, but tousled from sleep or some vague attempt at it.  Her feet were stuffed hastily into a pair of his old boots, without socks to protect them from the harsh, cracked leather.  Her slender white ankles peeked just over the tops of them as she crossed them beneath her, under the chair.  There was a spot, just on the inside of her left ankle that he wanted to press his lips into.  It was a tiny, uneven indentation from an old injury.  She had told him once that it ached sometimes when her feet were cold.  He never wanted her to ever be cold.  He wanted to warm every inch of her, from the inside out.

                Her left hand rose from the keys to sweep an errant lock of hair away, and he saw his ring glimmer on her hand.  The end of the rainbow.  And here it was.

                He moved forward slowly and set his hands on her shoulders gently.  Her fingers stalled and he felt her breath catch in the tiny motion of her body beneath his hands.  He pressed his fingertips into her flesh slightly.  He knew she was both relieved and nervous at the same time and wanted to erase any fear she might have.

                Her left hand rose to meet his and held on tight.  Her dark head bowed low on the keys for just a moment, until she looked up at him.  The relief in her eyes was palpable.  He felt her begin to breath regularly again under his hands.  Then she was in his arms and nothing else mattered in the whole world.

                Emily held him tightly to her, running her hands over every inch of his body that she could reach.  She had to make sure that he was all there.  His lips tore hers open, roughly, but there was no thought of refusal.  She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him even closer to her.

 

                An hour later, amid a tangle of clothes, blankets, and the furniture and supplies they had managed to knock over in their haste, Emily finally let him go for a second.  She looked at him and shook her head, “I’ll never, ever do it again.  I promise.”  She smoothed his hair again, gently, needing to touch him to reassure herself that he was really here with her, safe from harm.

                He drew a deep breath, slowly, and then let it out again, cradling her on his chest, “I should never have left like that.  You know I sulk when I’m angry, but I should never have gone.  I was in no state of mind to be where I was.  I’d have gotten myself and my partner killed if it hadn’t been for you.”  He kissed her, long and deeply.  “Don’t ever let me leave you like that again?”

                Emily shivered and moved closer to him.  She was anything but cold, but the shadow of what she knew must have happened chilled her to the bone, “It happened again, didn’t it?”

                He nodded, “You said, ‘Run Teddy!  Run!’  So I ran, and then they started shooting.  He rubbed his arm.  The bandage had come off, but it was really only a deep graze, nothing serious.  Nothing compared to the bullet that the doctors had to pry out of Jem’s leg.  He had stayed with his partner while they did it.  A bit of friendship was better than nothing, when there was no ether.  “Got a bit of a souvenir, but I would have been dead if you hadn’t warned me.”  He looked down into her eyes and shook his head in disbelief.  Although he knew that his wife had this gift, it still frightened him.

                Emily shuddered again, and gathered him closer in her arms, “I fell asleep at my desk.  I don’t remember any of it except waking up and knowing that you were alright, somehow.”  She touched the red welt on her own arm, gingerly, “We match.”


	17. "White Rabbit"

_“When the men on the chess board get up and tell you where to go_  
And you just had some kind of mushroom  
And your mind is moving slow  
Go ask Alice  
I think she'll know  
When logic and proportion  
Have fallen sloppy dead  
And the white knight is talking backwards  
And the Red Queen's lost her head  
Remember what the dormouse said…”

_\- Jefferson Airplane – “White Rabbit”_

                Teddy completed his maps over the next two days, translating the scratches of information into tangible pictures that would be of use to the others.  He turned them over to Kenneth Ford in exchange for a five day furlough in Paris with his wife.

               

                Emily sank under the water blissfully.  This was absolute heaven!

                Teddy watched his wife and smiled.  It was wonderful to see her happy again.  Happy and safe.  At least here he didn’t have to worry about her every moment.  “I offer romance, excellent food and wine, and jewelry, and you decide based on a big bowl of hot water?”

                She scowled at him, playfully, but kept her eyes shut.  “Out damned Kent!  Leave me in peace!”  She used the misquote humorously at first, then opened her eyes, “’ _Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand._ ’”  She shook her head and spoke quietly, “Sometimes, there, I feel like nothing is clean.”

                He sat down on the side of the bathtub.

                They were staying at the Ritz in Paris.  She disliked the elegant pomposity with a vengeance and would have much preferred to stay somewhere smaller and more intimate; somewhere with charm and character - elegant beauty, rather than ornate, over-gilded glamor.  But, as he said, there was something about a bathtub that had made her cave to his wishes easily.  She looked up at her husband in question, “What?”  He normally let her be in the bathtub, knowing it was a long rite.

                “We have a visitor.  Hop on out and come with me,” he held up a silk bathrobe for her to put on.  “You can take another bath before bed.”

                Emily scrambled up quickly and grabbed the robe from him, “Visitor?  I can’t see anyone like this!  I haven’t washed my hair… I… Teddy, I have no clothes on!”

                “Yes,” he nodded.  “Ergo – our visitor.”  He took her by the shoulders and steered her into the salon of their suite.

                A tiny, black-haired woman with deep jet eyes was looking at the articles of clothing in Emily’s travelling case with some interest.  On the table was a copy of her latest article, syndicated in the Paris paper.  “Bonjour, E. Kent!”  The woman’s eyes glittered humorously and she stood up.  Her black skirt was not a skirt at all; rather a pair of full trousers, paired with a long sweater and a blouse very similar to those Emily wore often.

                “Darling, may I present Coco Chanel.  Mademoiselle, my lovely wife,” he nodded and then winked at Emily.  “A kindred couturier, I assure you.”  He smiled again, “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to take care of a few things.”  He kissed Emily on the cheek and left the room, grinning.  For the first time in a very long time, he felt like he was taking care of his wife.

                Emily’s French was good, so they spoke easily.  As Teddy had said, they were definitely very similar.  Chanel’s opinion of her wardrobe was critical, but not of the nature of the garments, rather their fabric and cut.

                Emily tried on a shirt for her and she clucked her tongue in disgust, “Too big!  Your shoulders should be on your shoulders, yes?”  She began to pin the fabric and take measurements at the same time.

                “It’s Teddy’s,” Emily explained.  “I didn’t have time to alter it.”

                “Then don’t wear it!” the woman snapped.  “You wear what fits you and is of quality, always.  Never settle.”  She stood back and tilted her head to the right, looking at the shade and drape of the dark grey suiting fabric she had tossed over Emily’s shoulder.  “Your husband is… different, I think?  He understands this?”  She looked at Emily in question and then made a notation in the small notebook she carried.  To have been given a contract like this was a gift.  The only condition her husband had made was that his wife should have at least one dress.  The rest was up to her.

                Emily rolled her eyes, “I don’t know about that, but he has stopped bothering to argue.  He can see the practicality of it, especially here.”  She had no idea what ever possessed Teddy to call the designer here, but was very thankful that he had.  Not only did she have very little to wear that wasn’t damaged and patched and absolutely filthy, she also believed that she had met a friend.  Like her, Chanel was a woman in a man’s world.

                “Mmm…”  Chanel dropped to her knees and began adjusting the hemline of the skirt.  She spoke in her quick, provincial French, “Your writing.  It is good.  My English is not as much.  But, you bring elegance to the war, Madame.”

                Emily was unsure if that was a compliment.  “Elegance?  I don’t think so.”  If anything, her writing had become more stark and blunt, but then again, what exactly was she wearing?  She looked at herself in the mirror.  The Emily-in-the-glass who looked back was not Victorian, and definitely not flowery or ornate.  But inelegant?  No, that wasn’t really true.

                Chanel shrugged in only French women can – a combination of ‘you’ll see’, ‘of course I’m right’, and ‘I don’t give a damn’ in one simple gesture.  “I will be back tomorrow morning.”  She stood up and then smiled imperiously at Emily, “It will not be early, but if you aren’t out of bed you can leave him for a few moments to try on clothes.”  She folded her sewing kit away and gestured to a garment bag on the chair, “That is one of mine.  You may borrow it for tonight.  We are of a size and you can handle letting your ankles show.”

 

                Teddy whistled as she came out of the bedroom, “Holy…”  He shook his head, “I don’t know.”  This was his wife?

                Emily looked at him cautiously, “Is it too tight, or…” The dress was black silk and a rhinestone fastener glimmered at her hip.  Her shoulders were bare and the neckline plunged lower than anything she had ever worn.  Showing her ankles was the least of her worries and a gross understatement of what this dress really revealed!  Although they were built very similar, Emily had a good six inches on the diminutive Chanel.  In heels, the handkerchief hem met her mid-calf at its lowest point.

                Teddy shook himself and stood up, “No.  It’s just…”  He pulled a box from the table and opened it for her.  “These are too small.  I didn’t expect this.”  He had thought Chanel would bring her something with a great deal more fabric in it.  Pearls on black were beautiful.  He clasped them around her throat anyway.  The three long strands dangled almost to her waist.  Pearls on Emily’s skin were breathtaking.

                “No they’re not!” Emily reassured him.

 

                Paris was still Paris, in spite of the war that surrounded it.  There was food and fuel rationing here, as everywhere in the civilized world, but it was still Paris.  The German bombs had not dropped on the city, although they would in a mere few months’ time.

                Teddy took her to a small restaurant near Montmartre; he knew the artist’s quarter best from his time in the city as a student.  Their table was tiny, but near the fire.  His knees brushed against hers as they sat.  Strange feeling, that.  The dress was incredibly comfortable, really.  There were no laces or bones or frills or frippery, and touching Teddy through only her silk stockings and his trousers was deliciously thrilling.  That, the wine, and the fire made Emily’s cheeks crimson.

                “Hold still,” he whispered, suddenly.

                Emily froze.  “What is it?”

                “Shh,” he demanded.  He pulled out the pad of paper and pencil that lived in his jacket pocket and sketched the image as quickly as he could without losing it.

                The waiter stepped back when he saw this.  You didn’t disturb artists at work, he knew that well enough.  He was an artist himself and had been studying full-time until the war broke out.  He longed to paint again, so it was certainly not his right to interrupt a colleague.  The man was definitely a painter, it was obvious from his pencil strokes.  He looked at the woman curiously.  Wife, sister, or mistress?  Likely the latter.  There was something familiar about her, though.  Maybe one of the local models?

                Teddy finished and touched Emily’s hand gently, “I’m sorry.  I had to get that on paper.  The shadow and the light were incredible.”  He nodded at the waiter, “My apologies.”

                “It is nothing,” the young man said quietly.  He served their dinners quickly and refilled their wine glasses as well.  He shot another covert look at the woman.  She wore a wedding ring.  Hmm…  Then she smiled at something the artist said.  “ _The Smiling Girl_ ,” he blurted, in broken English.

                Teddy stiffened in annoyance, “Thank you.  That will be all.”  He did not like it when people made Emily uncomfortable, and she had never liked being compared to paintings of herself.

                “You’re Frederick Kent!” the young man exclaimed.  He had actually seen one of the greatest artists of this century at work.  He had seen Degas across the room at the Salon once, but that was nothing compared to this.  Moreover, he now knew that one of the most iconic muses in the history of modern art was actually real!

                Emily smoothed her husband’s fingers gently and smiled up at the young man.  “Thank you for your kindness, sir.  We would appreciate your discretion?”  She knew that Teddy did not relish any sort of celebrity.

                He nodded once and turned away quickly.  He would be discrete tonight, but tomorrow he would tell the world that he had actually met Frederick Kent and that he was married to his _Smiling Girl_.

                Emily knew that these encounters left Teddy more than annoyed; it had happened several times on their honeymoon and he avoided most public places to keep it from reoccurring.  That was also why he usually insisted that they stay at the larger hotels; privacy and security were easier when the establishment was equipped for it.  Although his art was no secretive thing for him, the process was.  Sometimes he let her see his sketches, but not the ones of herself, at least not until they were finished.  Especially if he intended to do anything with them, he liked to keep them to himself until the work was complete.  She was like that too with her stories and poems, but had become less so with her newspaper writing, simply because the brevity required such factual perfection and she often needed Teddy, or Perry, or Ken to verify that what she was saying was accurate.  The meal was delicious – warm roast duck in lemon sauce over rice.  It was simple, but perfect, because Paris was still Paris. 

                Teddy took her next to a nightclub in the heart of the artist’s quarter, where they danced to American jazz.  Again, Emily was reminded of how much more intimate this dress made her feel.  She could feel the warmth of Teddy’s hand at the small of her back as they moved across the crowded floor.  It was almost the same feeling as when they were alone, but somehow she felt it more keenly because they weren’t.  She moved closer than was necessary and stayed there, her cheek nearly touching his shoulder.  Paris was Paris, after all.  At home, this would have been scandalous.  Even though they had been married for more than five years, no one acted like this in Blair Water.  Here, no one cared.  In fact, people who did see them probably thought they weren’t married!

                Although he was beside her, closer than ever, Emily knew that Teddy’s mind was elsewhere - likely in his studio. She was right.

                In his mind he chose the paints: jet black with a hint of obsidian and blue for her dress and hair, blood red and slate grey for the backdrop and shadows.  He held her and painted her in his mind, measuring every brush stroke, planning every line and contour.  He could paint Emily from memory, God knows he had been chastised enough for that, but the sketch he had taken earlier inspired him in a different way.  It had happened before – a Madonna he had done for his graduation portfolio that was based on a line drawing of Emily beside a very memorable fire, his infamous _Smiling Girl_ , the picture he called _Robin’s Mother_ , and a charcoal sketch he had of her from their honeymoon – and they had all come to him like this.  He needed to paint it and get it out of his system or the image would haunt him until he did.  He desperately wanted to run to the nearest art store and make them open up and sell him the colors he needed for this.

                Emily-in-his-arms knew him well enough to not interrupt.  She didn’t want to.  This was the Teddy that no one else could ever understand.  Ilse had once said that he deigned his attention on those he felt were worthy, but Emily knew that was not true at all.  He would ignore everyone in the world except Robin when he was like this.  Emily took the opportunity to enjoy herself thoroughly.  She loved dancing, and since Teddy was on automatic pilot, she could let her imagination run wild!

                The dark, dingy, smoke-filled room faded and she could imagine them dancing at Versailles in the court of Louis XIV, or at one of Napoleon and Joshepine’s balls, or at a party celebrating the end of the Revolution.  She imagined each one of these in detail – the glimmering candlelight, the sound of the orchestra, the swish of silk as they danced.  The gaiety tonight was none of those, though.  She came back to reality with a thud.  Those dancing were not celebrating the glorious present, they were here to forget its horrific reality.  Lovers, yes they all were, but none were here enjoying the joyful oblivion of love that she and Teddy had known on their honeymoon.  Tonight was voyeuristic avoidance - that was all.  The real world, with its guns and its graceless annihilation, would return with the dawn, when even Lady Paris’ rose-colored glasses would not eliminate the scars.  Emily shivered.  This was her next piece for the paper.  The words came to her quickly.

                “Are you cold, love?” Teddy whispered.  She was tucked closer to him than normal and as beautiful as she was in this wisp of silk, it couldn’t be warm.  He had whiled away over an hour planning his painting and only just returned to realize that his muse was probably freezing.

                Emily looked up at him distantly, not really seeing him at all, and shook her head absently.  Then she lay her cheek on his shoulder and shut her eyes.  She felt the rough wool of his jacket against her skin.  That was real.  She felt him move next to her, gliding and swaying her across the floor as the trumpet played, and that was real too.  What wasn’t real was that the wool jacket he wore was a part of his dress uniform and that the floor was filled with others who were here only to forget.  Alice in Wonderland really, except that this looking glass was shattered and reflected a fragmented reality of so much more than mere superstitious misfortune.  Emily broke away from him and hurriedly returned to their table.  She grabbed her small evening bag and groaned in desperation when she opened it; fashionable though it was, there was no room for pen and paper.

                Teddy pulled out his notebook and pencil quickly.  He flipped to the first empty page and handed it to her.  “Here,” her nod of thanks and relief told him that he was right.

                Emily had her moments, just as he did.  He had learned to recognize and categorize them fairly well; he had watched them since they were children, after all.  Her ‘flash’ was obvious.  She would stand completely still and watch beauty that no one else could see.  Sometimes if he stood right behind her and if she let him read what she wrote afterwards, he could glimpse it too.  He had tried to paint it so many times, but never really felt that he had done it justice.  Next was the dogged determination with which she wrote her novels.  He had seen her write the second, while she was pregnant with Robin.  She was disciplined and dedicated, and wrote relentlessly.  The planning and outlining were, for her, the creative part of this process.  Once the story had played itself out, she was rather like a historian; a chronicler and narrator only.  And then there was her third type of writing, the kind he was witnessing now.  It was a relentless slavery to a desire that was greater than any other.  It was like a moving picture across her brain that she had to write down before it fled.

                He sat down beside her, carefully, so as not to shake the table, and ordered another drink.  It was well past 2:00 a.m., but the club was maniacally busy.  He watched the couples on the tiny parquet dance floor with a detached interest.  Most of the men were in uniform, and most of the women were dressed in less than Emily was, with short, bobbed hair.  He looked at his wife again, as she bent over the page, scribbling furiously.  What she wore never really concerned him.  He did think that her trousers were more than a little bit distracting, but then again, to have her slogging around the front line in a long skirt would be too, not to mention deadly!  No, Emily could wear what she liked, but he wanted her to keep her hair long.  He loved pulling the pins out and watching it fall around her shoulders and then over his.  That was his husband’s prerogative.

                Emily sighed and sat back in the chair.  Done.  She grabbed the glass in front of her and took a deep swallow.  She screwed her eyes shut in reaction to the caustic alcohol and fanned her face, coughing slightly.  “What…” she swallowed and opened her eyes, watering though they were, “what is this?” She looked up at Teddy in disbelief.  It tasted like alcoholic fennel.

                “Absinthe,” he said, smiling at her reaction.  “I don’t think you’re supposed to gulp it down like that.”

                Emily sniffed the glass and then took another small, cautious sip.  She let it rest on her tongue for a moment and then swallowed.  She looked at the clear liquid, “Isn’t it supposed to be green?”  She had heard of this in a book she read about the French Impressionists.

                Teddy shrugged, “Sometimes.  That’s diluted with water.  Are you all done?”  He looked at his notebook, “May I?”

                Emily nodded slowly, “Go ahead.”  This piece was finished, really.  There was no harm in him reading it.  She took another sip of the liquid.  It purportedly inspired creativity.  She didn’t need that, but she was suddenly quite thirsty.

                Teddy looked up at her in disbelief when he finished reading.  It was not a long article, but it was incredibly and unbelievably perfect.  It was tonight in words.  “This is amazing!  The characterization, the personification…  Emily, this is genius!”

                Emily shook her head and set the glass down emphatically.  Her toes were tingling in the most curious fashion.  “Only you know that I wrote it _before_ I drank that stuff!”  She giggled in spite of herself.

                Uh oh!  Teddy looked at the empty glass and quickly stuffed the notebook into his pocket.  He helped her to her unsteady feet and threw his coat around her shoulders, “Time to go home, genius.”

 

 

 


	18. "Write What You Know"

_“Some lives hurtle forward_

_And some never budge._

_And sometimes a life takes a different direction_

_With an innocuous innocent nudge._

_Where is that story?_

_What should I say?_

_I’ve gotta do this right…_

_I’ve gotta find the piece of the puzzle_

_That brought me here today.”_

_\- Will Chase – “Write What You Know”_

 

                Emily and Teddy arrived back at the camp in time for the first snowstorm of the season.  It was bitterly cold, but the routine of life did not change.

                As Perry put it, “Mud’s still here, except now it’s frozen!”

                Emily wrote her way through the long, dark December nights and spent Christmas huddled in her tent in terror as Teddy made yet another sortie into enemy territory to map the lines.  Her only solace was the thought of her daughter and her family, safe and warm at New Moon.

                Robin had written a letter to her parents, her first ever.  The salutation and closing were in her own hand, the rest in Ben Miller’s.

_“Dear Mum and Daddy,_

_I want you to know that I talked to Santa Claus and he knows where you are.  I told him specifically to look for a lady and whole lot of soldiers.  Aunt Ilse says that he would know anyway, but I like to be sure of really important things._

_I am practicing really hard for the Christmas Carol Service at the church next week.  I was supposed to play one hymn, but then Mrs. Evans got vertigo (Ben had scratched that out and written ‘lumbago’ instead.)  I don’t see why that means she can’t play?  But anyway, I get to play three hymns now, and that’s good because she doesn’t like playing in flats anyway._

_Cousin Jimmy bit into a piece of fruitcake that he got at the church jumble sale and broke his tooth.  Dr. Burnley had to pull it out and that was a whole lot of drama!  I should think that someone his age would be glad to see the Tooth Fairy again, but you just can’t count on adults to behave the way any normal person would.  I didn’t eat my fruitcake, just to be on the safe side._

_I was trying to make you scarves for Christmas, but I only got one finished, so here it is.  I decided to make one half blue for you, Daddy, and one pink for you, Mum.  I think that’s the best of both worlds, except maybe if I had actually finished two.  There are some mistakes, but it’s still warm.  I hope you like it.  There’s some fruitcake too, but it definitely didn’t come from the jumble sale!_

_I wish you were both home.  Maybe Santa Claus will give you a ride home?  I’ll be four soon.  It would be nice if you were here for that too.  I miss you._

_Love and hugs and kisses, your daughter_

_Robin Kent_

_P.S.  I think you know my last name, but I just learned how to make cursive K’s from Aunt Katie and I wanted to show you.  XO RK_

_P.P.S.  The cats are fine and there are two new kittens called Ebony and Irony.  I named them after my piano because they are black and white.  XOXO RK”_

 

                Kenneth Ford entered Emily’s tent at her welcome.  He had spoken with her many times, both by choice and of necessity.  He vetted almost all of her articles so the censors wouldn’t have a heart attack.  They needn’t have worries.  Emily wrote about people, not places or plans.

                “Hello,” she said cheerfully to the captain, looking up from a pair of Teddy’s socks that she was trying to mend again.  “How’re things?”  A letter from Ilse sat beside her on the bed.

                Ken nodded, “Well, mostly.  As well as anything can be here.  It’s bloody freezing out there, but you know that.”  He shrugged, “Here, these are yours.”  He set two huge sacks of mail down next to a crate of something canned that was supposed to be food.

“Oh,” Emily nodded, “is Gus feeling under the weather?”  Emily and Gus Anderson, who was the company clerk, were fast friends.  He cabled out her articles in exchange for help with the mail and her speed at a typewriter.

“Nope,” Ken shook his head and sat down in the second chair at her desk beside Teddy.  He took off his gloves and then put them back on again.  It was only slightly warmer in here than it was outside.  “They’re yours.  Just came in from Central.”  He picked up a typewritten page on her desk and smiled at the short satire she had written about their most recent meal of canned beans and corn bread.  Teddy had drawn a caricature at the bottom that illustrated her words brilliantly.  No matter when he came in here, he was always amazed at how they had turned a dismal, crowded tent into a home.

“Mine?”  Emily looked at Ken in confusion, “What on earth are you talking about?”  She opened the first packet of letters.  They were addressed to E. Kent, care of the Toronto Star.

“Fan mail,” Ken said succinctly.

Teddy took another packet out and looked at them.  These were from Vancouver.  He opened the first in the pile and read aloud:

_“Dear Mister Kent,_

_I was at the front for two years until they shipped me home after the Ridge.  You’re the only one who writes about guys like us.  Keep doing it and maybe they’ll stop killing us._

_With thanks,_

_Bob Martin”_

 

Ken read the next one:

_“Mister Kent,_

_My husband is in the 27 th Artillery in Amiens.  Maybe you know him?  Michael Grant?  Anyway, I want to thank you for writing “The Hand of War”.  I can finally understand what he’s seeing over there.  Maybe if there were men like you in Parliament all of this would stop._

_Yours truly,_

_Sheila Grant”_              

Emily stared at them, “They’re all like that?”

                Ken nodded, “The ones I looked at.  I’m sure there are a few critics, but most of them sing your praises.  Oh, and there were two cables as well.”  He fished the two envelopes out of his pocket and handed them to her.  He understood the one from her editor completely, but the second was a mystery.  It sounded like it was from a teacher or something.

                Emily read her editor’s words first.

_“GREETINGS STOP GOOD THING CIRCULATION ON THE DAILIES HAS DOUBLED OR YOU’D PAY THIS POSTAGE STOP WELL DONE STOP REGARDS GRANT”_

The second one was shorter:

_“STAR STOP MORE THAN DOUGLAS’ DAUGHTER STOP NO MORE FETTERS STOP DEAN”_

She handed it to Teddy, wordlessly.  They had talked, reasonably, about her relationship with Dean while they were in Paris.  While Teddy would never like it, he now understood it.  There was nothing romantic about it from Emily’s point of view.  While Dean might think of her that way, it was unrequited, and always would be.  Dean could only ever be a friend, a sounding board, and a literary critic, that was all.

                “Fetters?” Teddy asked quizzically.

                Emily shook her head, “Just that I’m not tied to anything now.  It sounds crazy out of context.”  She shook her head in disbelief, “Am I supposed to write back to all of these people?”

                Ken shrugged, “You could if you had the time, but I know you don’t.  You could do a piece about it though?  Dad did that once.  He wrote a pretty controversial article – I forget what it was about now – but anyway, the letters poured in!  Instead of addressing them all individually, he wrote two or three editorials in response.  You could do that, whenever you’re out of material.”  It didn’t seem like she ever would be.  One thing this war seemed to have in spades was stories to tell.  Ken shifted uncomfortably; the time had come.  “Emily, there’s something else.”

                Teddy knew, by the tone of his Captain’s voice, that this was not good news.

                “What is it?”  Emily looked up, distracted by the letters in her hand.

                “Emily,” he sighed, there was no easy way to do this.  “Emily, you have to go.  I’m sending you to Paris with the next hospital convoy to VA.  From there we can arrange…”

                “What?”  Emily stood up and looked at Kenneth Ford in disbelief.  “Why?”

                “I can’t tell you why,” said Ken, emphatically.  “I’m not even supposed to tell you that you’re going.  But look, I like you.  You’re an amazing writer, a great sport through some pretty horrible stuff, and you make this guy,” he gestured to Teddy, trying to lighten the mood, “a tolerable artist.  You just have to go.”  He couldn’t tell her anymore.  He was likely going to be reprimanded for this if HQ ever found out.  All of the civilians in camp were being shipped out as fast as possible.

                “It’s happening soon then?” Teddy’s voice was quiet.  “I thought as much.  Jem and I really didn’t like what we saw last week.”

                Ken drew in a deep breath and looked at Teddy, “How much did you tell her?”

                “Tell me what?”  Emily was completely disoriented by the conversation.

                Teddy ignored her interjection and shrugged, “She saw the maps, just like you did.”

                “Maps?  What do maps of the German lines have to do with…” her voice trailed off to nothing as the realization came to her.

                Ken leaned forward, “We can get you out tomorrow.  I wanted to give you as much time as I could.  After tomorrow, things are going to change pretty significantly around here.  It’s no place for a civilian – man or woman.”  He added the last as a safeguard for himself.  He knew that if she got her back up about that one, it would end badly for all of them.

                Emily looked at her husband.  Teddy was looking at her intently; the fear in his eyes was obvious.  “You think I should leave, don’t you?”

                He nodded, “Yes, I do.  This is going to get nasty, Emily.  I don’t… I can’t worry about you and look after myself.”  He took her hand and turned her wedding ring with his thumb.  “We have to think about Robin, love.”  He looked at the photograph of their daughter that sat on the table and took a deep breath.  She was four today, and they weren’t there with her.  He had to make sure that at least one of them would see her next birthday, and all of the ones after that.

                Ken pursed his lips.  What a horrible position he had put them in!  If he’d sent her home when she first arrived… But no.  In that case, McCrae, Walter, and every other boy who had died in the field should have been sent home too.  This war wasn’t selective about who it killed or whose lives it changed; the world they had all known would never be the same.  This new reality meant that the conversation he was hearing between them was only the first of many between husbands and wives, fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters.  Men and women would never again return to their traditional roles in society.

                Emily drew in a deep breath and shut her eyes.  She couldn’t fight that.  She couldn’t put Teddy in danger or leave Robin without either one of them.  “Ken,” she asked suddenly, “Do you think I can come back?  I mean, could I go to Paris while this change occurs,” she used her words very carefully, “and then come back?”

                He shrugged, “I don’t know.  Honestly, I don’t know a lot more than what I’ve told you.  This isn’t a request, this is an order from HQ.  All civilians have to go.”

                “Is this the end?” Emily asked, holding her breath.  Oh God, she hoped so!  Enough was enough.  It didn’t matter why, now.  Too many men had died for this, period.  It didn’t matter what side of the line you were on. 

                He shook his head, “I don’t know, Emily.  The Ridge was supposed to turn the tide, but all it did was deepen the stalemate – you know that.  If Wilson would make up his mind and throw in with us, I think yes.  If not…” he shook his head in weariness.  “I just don’t know.”

                Emily looked at Teddy again.  He was still holding her hand tightly.  “Can I stay in Paris?”  She had to ask him.  There was no independence in this decision.

                Teddy knew that this was the most important decision he had ever had to make in his life.  He had thought that Emily had made him choose the impossible before, but that was nothing compared to this.  He remembered the morning he woke up alone in his house in Montreal, holding a copy of _The Moral of the Rose,_ knowing that he had to try, just one more time, to see if he could win her heart.  That decision had been agonizing, but had changed his life; saved it really.  The road not taken held no mystery on that account.  It would have been a dead end.  Robin.  That had been another choice.  He had always wanted to have children with Emily, but the possibility of losing her for it had scared him so much.  His daughter was the joy of his life.  He would never make a different choice.

                But this?  There was no joy here.  There was only fear and loss.  He wanted to hold onto her forever and keep her safe, but this was the last place that could happen.  He looked at her, “London.  Go to London and stay there.  If you can come back, then do.  Otherwise, you’ll get home a lot faster from there.”

                Ken nodded in agreement, “That’s a great idea, Ted.”  It was also a smooth way to avoid a serious row with a very determined woman.  “You can get on a Red Cross ship easily.”

                “London,” Emily looked away.  It might as well be Timbuktu, or better yet, their own Island.  She would be nowhere near anything.  If… no _when_ the armistice was signed, she would miss it all.

                Teddy knew that look.  “Ken, can you give us a moment?”

                Kenneth stood up, immediately.  This was not his place at all.  “Of course.  Just let me know what you decide and I’ll do my best to help arrange it.”  He left quickly.  Being single was sometimes a helluva lot easier!  He shook his head when he remembered the way Emily had held onto her husband’s hand.  No.  On second thought, he’d willingly have impossible conversations to walk back to his tent and have Rilla hold his hand like that.

                Emily stood up and folded her hands across her chest and pulled her shawl closer around her.  It was bitter cold, both in here and outside.  She heard Teddy rise and stoke the small stove that kept both them and the stores from freezing.  She wanted to stand her ground and argue to stay in Paris, but she knew that the end result would not change.  She also knew that Teddy would grow sullen and icy, if provoked on something this important, and she didn’t want that.  He’d inherited his temper from his mother that was for sure.  Although Aileen Kent had eventually relaxed her possessiveness and allowed her son to live his own life, she had certainly left him with baggage.  He absolutely refused confrontation on almost every occasion and would, instead, wall himself up in sullen moodiness.  She did not want to deal with that on what might very well be the last night she would spend with him for a very long time.

                Teddy watched her square her shoulders.  That could mean one of two things, both of them Murray: she was getting ready to explode, or to endure in silence.  Emily was not really as temperamental as her relatives thought she was.  She would rarely let her ire show outwardly and could marshal her temper quite well, unlike Ilse.  When she did succumb to anger, her wit and intelligence, combined with an uncanny understanding of just how he worked would leave him lying awake at night, replaying the things she had said to him.  On this matter, she had most likely made up her mind to just deal with it for now, given the circumstances.  That wasn’t necessarily a good thing either.  It would just give her more time to develop her argument, and he would hear about it in a letter.  Emily’s words on paper were even more potent than those she spoke; they were fully developed, thoughtful, and edited to their most effective.

                Emily turned to him, “Alright look, I understand.  I know that you want me to be safe.”  She sighed, “But I want the same thing for you, too.  How can I look after you if I’m across the English Channel?”

                “You looked after me across the Atlantic Ocean once, Emily,” he said softly.  He didn’t like to bring up her ‘gift’, but he had to.  He took her hands in his, “Please?  I’m not telling you to go.  I’m asking you.”

                Emily moved into his arms and held onto him, “Alright.  I’ll go to London.”

_  
_


	19. "White Hot"

_“Adventures and misfortune_  
Nothing wagered, nothing gained  
I have wandered through the desert  
Found the ocean not the rain  
  
I can remember the nights by the strand in Tripoli  
We were so much younger then  
I had you and my poetry to protect me.”

_\- Tom Cochrane – “White Hot”_

 

_“TEDDY STOP I AM FINE STOP NOTHING OUT OF PARIS SINCE THE BOMBING STOP IN DEAUVILLE WITH CC STOP ALL MY LOVE EK STOP”_

                Teddy folded the telegram back up and stuffed the envelope into his left breast pocket.  She was safe, for the time being at least.  Amiens was lost.  The German attack had been as swift as it was relatively unexpected.  The guns that had rained death and destruction on the City of Lights had given him more than one white night.  Emily had been gone for less than twenty-four hours when it started and he had feared the worst.  More than that, it had taken both Perry and Jem to hold him down and keep him from going after her.  Then, he heard from a doctor passing through that he had seen their convoy and Emily.  Her telegram was sent a week later and had just arrived.

                The only consolation was that the tide was beginning to turn.  After three and a half years of wavering and waffling in their bubble of isolationist superiority, the United States had finally joined the fight.  It was just in time, too.  The French, British, and Canadian troops were all exhausted – physically, financially, and morally.  Fighting all along the lines had worn their resources and their resolve thin.  The new manpower was a blessing, in more ways than one.

 

                Emily looked across the dinner table at the man with barely concealed distaste.  The young Turk of American literature was arguing and drunk again.  Ernest Hemingway was self-righteous and high-principled to the core.  Oh how little he knew!  He hadn’t talked to the people who were really fighting this war.  He’d been in France for five days and was masquerading as a seasoned and jaded veteran.  Emily said nothing to him and pushed the food around her plate desultorily.  She smiled politely when it was required, and spoke only when she was spoken to; a Murray to the bone.  Only her hostess knew exactly who she was and how the war was affecting her.

                En route to Paris from the front lines, the shelling had started.  It was intermittent and distant at first, and then the morning after she left it began in earnest.  The ground shook and the noise was deafening.  Then the sky opened up and the bombs began to fall around them.  Prussia’s secret weapon, the long range ‘Paris Gun’ had been unleashed to destroy the city.  They reached the outskirts of Paris and found a city sheltering from a horrible storm – a storm from which no rainbows would result, only death, destruction, and demoralization.  Sheltered in the cellar of an old stone farmhouse with two nurses, the driver of the ambulance, and eleven seriously wounded soldiers, Emily wrote what would be the most critically acclaimed piece she would publish from the front line, _The Night the Lights Went Out._   She thought about nothing except Teddy.

                She looked up at the two men again when she heard her name.  To them she was E.B. Starr, Canadian novelist and poet, stranded in Paris.  She had no connection to a front line journalist.

                “But Kent understands it,” Chanel’s English lover Capel slammed his fist down on the table.  “He writes about what is really happening to people!”

                “Too damned idealistic,” Hemingway snorted.

                Chanel chuckled knowingly, “And you are not?  Is it not the ‘Great Americans’ who will save us all?  Idealistic, I think.  You have not lived through this as we have,” she nodded to Emily.

                “Kent’s Canadian,” Capel said.  “What do you think, Ms. Starr?”

                Emily pasted on her best ‘but I’m only a woman’ smile and shrugged, “War is ugly.  To write about it you must descend into that morass.”

                “None of your Applegath’s want to get their hands dirty?” Hemingway sneered and took another swig of his drink.

                Emily was fuming inside.  She didn’t care what they said or thought of her, but to malign her fictional characters was uncivilized, even in this awful place.  She said nothing, merely shrugged and picked up her own glass.  She hid behind the cut crystal and took a tiny sip.  Absinthe was an acquired taste and she never drank it full strength, not after her experience in Montmartre.  But, she did enjoy it from time to time now.  Perhaps it was the thought of her ancestors turning in their graves at the idea of a chatelaine of New Moon consuming any alcohol, or just the reality that a mere Island girl could sit here and converse with some of the icons of the new century was really what made her do it.  It amazed her that she could sit here and sip at the anise flavored liquid and watch such a world go by.  She smiled slightly to herself at the thought.  That was something that would definitely go in her journal.

                She was staying with Gabrielle ‘Coco’ Chanel at her rented home in Deauville.  When she finally arrived in Paris, she had no idea where she should go and went to see the dressmaker as a last resort.  Chanel willingly took her in.  Since there were no trains to the coast, she offered her a ride and a place to stay.  She also seemed to understand that Emily really did not want to leave France.  She was more than willing to share her home with her friend.  An obsessed workaholic herself, she and Emily got along well.  Emily was also able to try on all of the new styles Chanel was designing and served as a live-in model, of sorts.  Instead of travelling to London once the Channel opened up again, as Teddy wanted her to, Emily stayed on.

                Hemingway arrived for this dinner with Chanel’s paramour.  Emily was not impressed, overall.  His writing was good, brilliant at times, but his attitude was so contrary to her own that she could not make up her mind to enjoy his company.  For the hundredth time in one evening, she desperately wished that Teddy were beside her.  She longed to look over at him and share her thoughts without speaking; to have him make their excuses and then escape to the beach to walk barefoot in the sand with his arm around her.  Teddy would also have been able to talk politics with them.  Emily knew who and what they were discussing, but didn’t care enough to voice an opinion.  She took another sip of her drink and lost herself in her imagination.  Sometimes it was a good idea to forget exactly where you were.

*****

_”It seems that the world itself is tired this morning.  The sunrise is slow and disheveled over a grey-green sea.  The white sand is littered with the refuse of a sleepless night.  Across an ocean of water, there is a little red island and a little red-haired girl who call to me this morning.  I miss my home and my daughter.”_

_“The moon is clear.  It is a new moon, unspoiled by the ugliness it will soon witness.  Oh, the stars are there!  High above it all, watching us all.  By starlight we are laid bare, mere bones, skeletons of ourselves and what we do.  Humankind must witness this horror and learn from it.”_

_“At home it is harvest time.  Potatoes come in earlier there than anywhere else, it seems.  They are white gems, treasures buried beneath red soil.  If diamonds could feel so warm, contain such nourishment then perhaps I would not miss my love so.”_


	20. "What I Wouldn't Do"

_“Oh the things I never noticed_   
_Opened my ears to the chorus_   
_You have made me listen careful_   
_And you gave me the line…_   
_I’ll carry the weight_

_I’ll do anything for you_   
_My bones may break_   
_but I’ll never be untrue .”_

_\- Serena Ryder – “What I Wouldn’t Do”_

 

                Teddy watched over the top of a burned out automobile, waiting for the right moment.  The storm troopers were undisciplined and unorganized now.  It had been this way for a while now.  Everyone hoped that meant the end was near.  He shifted slightly and checked the contacts on the detonator, then looked up again.  As they moved toward the town where the Allies lay in siege for them, there was a stone bridge that they needed to cross and it was his job to see that they didn’t.  In the past, their scouts would have identified this easily as a trap.  There were no scouts now and the soldiers moved on their own with only vague directives.  The charges had been laid.  All he had to do was wait and then push down on the handle. 

There were no maps to draw here.  It didn’t matter if he was an artist or a senator or a farmer.  It was all combat – hand to hand and man to man.  It was harder to forget the horror when its hands were clutching your arm as it died.  He thought that might be a nice line for Emily.  He looked again.  Only a few more seconds.  He heard a thrush in the bush beside the car and smiled slightly.  Two higher notes and one lower. 

The first soldiers stepped onto the bridge and the thrush sang again. 

He waited until the bulk of the force was on the bridge, then he pressed down with both hands and shut his eyes.  He didn’t hear the explosion, he felt it.  He covered his ears with his gloved hands instinctively.  His left ear rang shrilly, like a siren and his right ear felt numb and cold.  He shook his head to get rid of the sound and opened his eyes.  The bridge was in ruins and the men who had yet to cross it had been thrown back like rag dolls. 

He saw them scream.  He saw the agony on their faces.  He heard absolutely nothing.  Something was wrong.  The buzzing, high-pitched screech in his left ear was blinding, it hurt so much.  He pulled his hands away and looked at them.  His left hand was damp with a clear, pinkish fluid; that was not good. 

He started when someone touched his arm, and he reached for his sidearm automatically in defense.  Perry stopped his hand, speaking quickly.  Then he motioned toward the hill.

                Teddy shook his head in confusion and held his left hand to his ear again.  Christ, it hurt!

                Perry looked at strangely, then simply pointed to the hill again.

                Above the command post, a white flag flew.  It was over.  It was finally over!

                Perry grabbed his friend by the arm and ran with him.  They sheltered behind building, trees, anything that would provide protection.  It might be over, but who knew?  The two of them ran back to camp and straight to the medic tent.

                Teddy watched the doctor’s lips move, but couldn’t hear anything.  He shook his head, pointed to his ears, and then showed the doctor the remains of the fluid on his gloves.  He watched the doctor’s face change expression.

 

                Emily stood in front of the Ritz in Paris and watched the throng of people.  It was a veritable sea of joy.  The party never really stopped.  She and Coco had been in the city since September.  Emily knew the end was near.  Versailles would decide it – all they had to do was wait.  She heard little from Teddy on the front line, but when a letter did make its way to her, his words told the same story.  Once the Americans joined the fight, the Germans gave up.  On November 11th, just before noon, the waiting was over.  After four and a half years of death and destruction, the war finally ended.  That had been nineteen days ago.

                Emily smiled slightly as a British soldier grabbed her into a bear hug and kissed her.  She hugged him back and then let him move on.  It was glorious to be here; to see this.  One could almost believe in beauty again.  Almost.  Really believing would have to wait until she had Teddy in her arms again.  He was alive, she knew that.  She could feel it in the marrow of her soul.  But something wasn’t quite right.  She had yet to find Teddy or Perry, or even any of the other members of their unit in this madness of humanity.  She stood outside the hotel every day, hoping that he would look there for her.  The longer she waited, the more worried she became.

                “Emily?” a voice shouted.  “Emily!”

                She watched as a tall, red-haired young man in a Canadian uniform limped over to her, elbowing his way through the throng.  He stuck out his hand in greeting, “Emily Kent, right?  Jem Blythe.”

                “Yes.”  Teddy’s partner.  She had only met him once.  “Hello Jem,” she nodded.  Where was Teddy?

                He watched her look around and then took a deep breath, “Come with me, Emily.  I’ll take you to him.”

                Emily followed his khaki-clad back through the crowd.  This man was Walter Blythe’s brother, she remembered, abstractly.  The brilliant poet had died too soon, leaving far too few words as his legacy.  Every conscious thought she had was focused on the man in front of her.  She memorized every line of his shoulders as she walked.  Although she was no artist, she knew she could draw them perfectly, so intent was her concentration.  He was taking her to Teddy and she could not lose him.  He was the only link to her whole world.

                They stopped in front of an enormous grey brick building.  It was a hospital.  Emily looked up at Jem sharply, “What?”  Oh God, please not his hands, Emily prayed the words.

                The soldier shook his head, “We just got into town last night.  He told me you might be around the hotel.  He’ll tell you the rest.  Go on in, second floor.”  Jem took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he watched her square her shoulders and turn away from him.

                Emily used every Murray chromosome she possessed to make herself take the first step toward the door.  As with so many things, the first step was the hardest.  The fourteen stairs each got easier and she was hurrying when she entered the door.  She was greeted at a reception table by a nurse who confirmed that he was on the second floor in the east ward.

                This flight of stairs was even easier than the first had been.  She was only yards away from him now.  She could breathe now, knowing he was so close to her.  When she did, the surroundings assaulted her reawakened senses: the smell of lemon-oil soap and ether, of men and blood; the far off screams of pain and the closer sounds of hushed conversation and covered tears.  The bannister was smooth under her fingers, but the window above her was crisscrossed with boards where the glass was broken.  All of these things she catalogued in her mind, to be written out later.

                When she finally reached the landing she turned left, as the sign indicated, and entered a cavernous ward.  There was row upon row of beds.  Some men were in uniform, some were not.  Some had visitors, but most were alone.  He might be yards away, but where?  How would she ever find him?  She took a deep breath and began to walk down the aisle, looking left and right at each and every soldier.  She would later write that those faces were burned on her memory.  Truthfully, she would remember them.  She would see them on the streets in Toronto and London and know they had been there. 

                Many men called out to her as she passed.  She heard “Mother?” dozens of times, and the names of wives or sweethearts many times more.  Most of the men had bandages around their heads, many around their eyes.  Her heart was in her throat.  Not his eyes.  She shut her own at the thought and tried to hold in her fear.  When she opened them, she saw him, in a bed to her right.  He was concentrating on the paper in front of him.

                Emily flew.

                She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.  She felt him drop his work and his arms hold her in return.  All ten digits pressed into her back.  She moved her head away slightly and saw his eyes.  They shone with relief, joy, and the uncensored love that always met hers and always would.  She fell back into his arms and held on tightly, letting go of every ounce of fear and dread that had paralyzed her only moments earlier.

                Teddy shut his eyes and held onto her.  It was like being able to breathe again; like having light restored in the dark of night.  Emily was here, safe, and well; it would be alright now.

                “Love?” she whispered.  He didn’t answer.  She pulled back slightly, still holding onto him.  “Love, what…”

                Teddy shook his head and touched a finger to her lips.  He handed her the pencil and paper.  He had not been drawing, not really.  He was writing out the explanation for her.  There were some distracted doodles on the edge of the page, but that was just because there were some words that he couldn’t find.

                Emily read the words slowly, not letting her face show what she really felt.  She looked up at him when she finished.  Without making a sound she mouthed the words, “I love you.”  It was all she could say.  It was all she could feel.

                Teddy smiled and spoke quietly and carefully, “I heard that.”

                Emily smiled at him then, the smile he’d tried to capture a thousand times on paper.

                She watched his eyes and knew, instinctively, that it would be alright.  They would get through this.  She took the pencil and scribbled something, then handed it to him.  _“You said your left ear?”_

                He nodded, “That’s the worst of it.”  His voice sounded and felt odd to him, like speaking into a long, vibrating tunnel.  “I can sort of hear noises with my right now, just a bit.”  He looked up at her, “They’re hopeful about that.”

                She acknowledged that and took up the pencil again, writing longer this time.  When she handed him the pad to read her words, she looked at him more closely.  Other than the bandage on the left side of his head, nothing seemed amiss.  She reached out and stroked his cheek, simply because she could and because she had to.

                He read the words quickly, _“I love you.  Will they let me take you away from this?  When can we go home?”_   He looked up at her touch and smiled gently, wrapping his fingers around hers.  “I can leave any time, they just didn’t want me to go out alone.”  He scrunched his forehead, “Is it really noisy in here?”  He rubbed his neck, under his left ear.  It ached from the base of his jaw to the back of his skull.

                Emily shook her head, “It’s noisy outside, not in here.”

                Teddy tried to translate what he saw her lips do, “It’s over near?”

                She shook her head and wrote what she had said, adding more, _“Will it bother you?  It’s a madhouse, really.”_

                He nodded, “Noise makes my head ache, but can we walk?”  He wanted to breathe in fresh air again, and hold her by his side.

                She nodded and wrote quickly, _“It’s crowded in the streets.  No room for cars.  I’m staying at the Ritz.  Hot bath wins every time.  Okay?”_

                He smiled at her and winked, “Okay.  Is there room for me?”

                Emily grinned and said out loud, “Always.”

                He heard that too.


	21. "Going Home"

_”Going home_   
_Without my sorrow_   
_Going home_   
_Sometime tomorrow_   
_Going home_   
_To where it’s better_   
_Than before_   
  
_Going home_   
_Without my burden_   
_Going home_   
_Behind the curtain_   
_Going home_   
_Without the costume_   
_That I wore.”_

_\- Leonard Cohen – “Going Home”_

                The doctor looked at Emily and spoke to her as if Teddy were not there.

Emily’s left eye twitched in annoyance.  He might be the best audiologist in London, but he was ignorant!  Dr. Burnley treated all of his patients like people, not like imbeciles.

                “As I was saying Mrs. Kent, your husband’s right ear is healing well.  I would expect a nearly complete recovery there.  His left is another matter.  The membrane ruptured at the explosion, likely it had suffered prior, untreated damage.”

                Emily nodded.  The German barrage had been deafening in Paris, so she could only imagine how loud it had been on the front line.  She held her husband’s hand and stroked the top of his knuckles with her thumb.  She always sat or stood on his right now.  She had never thought about it before, but now it was integral.  When she spoke, she wrote down what she said so he would understand the conversation.  It wasn’t fair that he did not know what was being said about him.  “So, a full recovery on the right.  What is your best guess for the left?”  She knew that Teddy was watching the man carefully now, trying to discern exactly what he was saying from the way his lips moved.  He had become fairly adept at it with her over the past two weeks.

                “Partial, at best.  He will likely be able to hear sounds, but not likely discern details.  Definitely no depth perception.”

                Teddy looked at her in confusion and she showed him the words she had transcribed.  Luckily, she had a lot of practice writing things down quickly.

                “What about surgery?” Teddy demanded.

                Emily stiffened.  She did not like this idea at all.

                The doctor looked shocked that he could speak, but answered him.  “Not at the present time.  The swelling is still too great to assess the damage accurately.  In the meantime, your headaches should lessen as the inflammation subsides.”

                Emily showed her husband the words and was secretly relieved.  The trip to London had been recommended by the doctors in Paris, but she desperately wanted to go home.  Perry was already there.  He had cabled them at their hotel in London when he arrived on the Island.  Although she had reconciled herself to the absence from their daughter for work, delaying their return any further was not what she wanted.

 

                The voyage across the Atlantic was uneventful, in spite of the stormy January seas.  As the doctor promised, Teddy’s right ear improved dramatically.  Near the end of the week-long trip he could understand almost everything that Emily said, as long as she spoke slightly slower than normal and looked at him when she did.  He made do in public and she helped out as much as possible.  His headaches were beginning to become less severe, but still plagued him far too often.  The medication they had prescribed for him helped dull the pain, but made him feel disconnected from everything.  After living for four years away from his home and family, that was the opposite of what he wanted.  He threw the powders into the ocean and suffered in silence.

 

                They stood at the rail beside one another as the ship docked in Halifax.  Home was a short train and ferry ride away now.  Emily inhaled; almost-Island air.  They caught their train and then the ferry to the Island without any difficulty.  Although they might have stayed in Halifax overnight, neither wanted to.

                Emily cried out when she caught the first glimpse of her rich, red, homeland soil, “Oh Teddy!  We’re finally home!”  She held him tightly and let every fiber of her being vibrate with thanks and anticipation.

                He hugged her back, “It’s never looked this beautiful to me before.”

                They filed off the ferry with the rest of the passengers.  Some were soldiers returning home, and some were commuters and travelers.  Emily wanted to push the slower people along to get off faster and let her feet connect with the land she had missed so much.

                As they turned onto the pier a tiny bundle of fur flew at them.  “Mum!” she screamed at the top of her lungs and hurled herself into Emily’s arms.

                Emily picked her daughter up and held her close.  There was nothing like this in the whole world.  Robin smelled like warmth and home; vanilla cookies and snowflakes on pine trees.  “Oh Robin,” she whispered into her daughter’s hair.

                “Oh Mum!” Robin hung on tighter and hugged her back.

                “And Daddy,” Emily whispered, close to her ear.  She knew that Robin wouldn’t recognize him, even though his photograph sat on her bedside table.  This Teddy was so different from the man who had left his infant daughter four and a half years ago.  She turned to Teddy and smiled through her tears at him, “Your beautiful wee lass.”

                Teddy pursed his lips and stroked her hair gently.  He hadn’t remembered the red as this vivid, nor had he remembered how she could tug on his heart without saying a word.  When she turned to him, she stared for a moment and then smiled.  Her mother’s smile.  The painting was there, instantly; the two most beautiful woman in his whole world.

                Robin reached over and fell into her father’s waiting arms.  “I love you Daddy,” she said.  “I’ve missed you so much!”  She looked up at him and smiled again, “Don’t cry, it’ll be alright now.  You’re home.”  She wiped her father’s tears away with her tiny, callused fingers and then hugged him hard.

                Teddy held her closer and buried his face in her hair.  He had heard her speak.  That was all that mattered to him, really.  When he was first injured, his worst fear had been that he would never be able to hear his daughter’s voice.  Of all the gifts that he was thankful for, this was one that he would never take for granted.

                Ilse, Perry, their brood of children, Aunts Laura and Katie, Dr. Burnley, and Cousin Jimmy all descended on them then.  Teddy still held onto his daughter, not willing to let her out of his sight, or even his arms.  He shook hands and gave hugs all around.  Seeing his Aunt Katie here was not incongruous, as he had expected it might be.  This was where she belonged.  She looked so much different than she did at Pinecrest that he would not have recognized her, had she not been with his wife’s family and their friends.

                Katharine Kent-Gardiner looked at her nephew and shut her eyes for a second, then hugged him.  “You are a sight for sore eyes, boy!  Welcome home and thank you.”

                Teddy smiled at her, “Thank you!  You’re the only family I’ve had in ten years.  We’ll catch up soon.”

                Emily was squeezed to death by Aunt Laura and battered by a million questions from the Miller girls.

                Ilse stood back slightly.  This was not her Emily.  This was not the Emily who had left less than two years ago.  This reed-thin, elegant woman was not the same, somehow.  Emily was dressed in a simple wool coat that had been a gift from Coco before her departure from Paris.  Her hair was knotted at the crown of her head in an old-fashioned style, but she was somehow more sophisticated for it.  Her skirt was short, falling just below her knees, and she wore it over flat-heeled tall leather boots.  Her smile was kind and friendly, but almost benevolent.  Emily had seen and done more in two years than Ilse ever would.  In fact, she doubted if many women would ever have the experience her friend had.  It set her apart from the rest of them, unavoidably.  It also seemed to make her somewhat wary and jaded of their simple and safe existence here on the Island.  Ilse had never felt so insignificant in her whole life.

                Emily turned to her friend, finally, “Hey Senator!”  She smiled at Ilse nervously.  The tension in the air between them was something she had never felt before.

                Ilse grabbed her in a ferocious hug and held on, “Oh damn!  It’s so good to have you home!”  She was crying, but she didn’t know why and she didn’t care.

                “It’s good to be home,” Emily said quietly.

 

                The homecoming dinner was epic.  Although Christmas had passed nearly six weeks earlier, the aunts made the traditional roast goose with all of the trimmings.  Santa Claus had waited to deliver his presents until today, it seemed.  After dinner, Robin sat down at the piano in the parlor and played. 

                When she began, Teddy looked up curiously.  There was sound, but not music.  She asked him if he liked her first song and he simply nodded and smiled at her.  He rubbed the aching spot below his ear and scrunched his forehead to try and hear what she was doing.  He couldn’t; it was all just an ambient backdrop of sound and it made it even more difficult to hear what was being said.  He looked at Emily in desperation.

                She glanced up from her coffee and her conversation with Dr. Burnley, who would never be Uncle Allan, and saw Teddy wince slightly and then rub his neck.  No one at home, save Perry, knew what had happened to him.  They knew he had been injured, but the details were not something he wanted to share right away.  Emily made her excuses and led him out to the hallway.  “You’re exhausted.  Do you want to stay here tonight, or…”

                He interrupted her with a violent shake of his head that made it ache even more.  The pain was dizzying.  “I’ve dreamed of our house for more than four years.  I’m not waiting any longer.”  They went back in, said their goodnights to everyone, and made ready to leave.  Teddy picked up their sleeping daughter from the couch and bundled her in blankets for the short walk up the hill to their home.  When they stepped out into the chill of a February night, they both took a deep breath.  The sky was clear and the air still and cold.  There was no wind off the sea as they walked, but you could still smell the tang of salt in the air.

                With each step forward, each breath in and out as they approached their home, Emily relaxed more.  “I love the smell of the sea.  It’s like something is cleaning my soul from the inside out.”  She stopped at the gate to their yard.  Someone, likely Cousin Jimmy, had shoveled the walkway to the house and lit a fire earlier, so that their home was not dark and abandoned.  Instead, it was waiting for them with anticipation in the glittering lights that reflected on the snow.

                “Oh Emily, what a sight!  Now we are really home!”  He followed her inside and heard the click of the bolt with satisfaction.  They were home and safe.  If leaving four years ago had ensured that for the rest of their lives, it was worth it.

 

                He stoked the fire and sat down beside her, kicking off his shoes and resting his feet on the coffee table that sat in front of their couch.  The cats were stretched on the hearth in satisfaction and Emily settled under his arm and let her head rest on his chest.  For the first time in almost five years he felt like he was in control of his life again.  In spite of that, he knew that there were some things that had not gone well today.  Their family seemed almost afraid of them.  In the uncanny way that she always seemed to know what he was thinking, Emily raised her head to look at him so he could hear her.

                “It’s almost like we’re strangers to them.  They act like they don’t want to offend us or something.”  She had felt it, first from Ilse, and then from Cousin Jimmy.  He had shook his head and muttered something about not being needed when they first arrived at New Moon.  Fortunately, she saw the Jimmy Book behind his back and told him that he was much needed, which was true.  This simple reassurance had not been enough for everyone else, though.

                Teddy sighed.  His head was aching less now, but that was only thanks to the wine he had retrieved from their cellar.  He was more worried about the sudden distance between them and their friends, “Perry was so formal to me.  Why on earth?  We were both there in the mud together, weren’t we?  I’m no different than before I left, any more than he is.”

                “I thought I was just over-reacting, but it felt like everyone was so cold to us, even though I don’t think they wanted to be.  Was it because we were there together?” she looked at him, hoping he might have an answer to this.

                He sighed, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe this isn’t really our home anymore.  Maybe we’re too different.  We’ve always been a bit odd to them all, but maybe this has just made the gap too wide.  I don’t know.”  He took another sip of wine and stared into the fire.  In spite of all of the years that he had spent away from the Island, he had never felt distance like this on any of his returns home.

                “Maybe we have to give it some time and just let everything calm down a bit.  I know that when my first book came out people acted strangely.  Maybe it’s just that we have been away and they have changed too.”  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she actually thought Teddy might be right.  They were different; their artists’ souls made them so by nature.  Perhaps this was too much, though.  She shuddered to think of the rift that might have existed between her and Teddy had they not been through some of the war together.

                “I hope you’re right,” he sighed and rubbed his ear again.  “I may be reading more into it than I should because I can only hear about half of what is going on.  Thank you so much for making it easier for me.”

                Emily looked up at him and squeezed his hand, “You’d do the same for me.  I know that.  Maybe that is what you’re sensing with Perry.  He might not be sure how to handle it.”  She knew that they needed to tell their family about it, but wasn’t sure how Teddy would feel about that.

                He yawned, in spite of himself, “I’m beat.  That probably has something to do with it too.  I want you in my arms in our bed so that I can believe in Heaven again.”  He hugged her tightly and kissed her lips softly, “Having you with me was a lifeline; I couldn’t have made it without you.  But being here is so much more.  This is like coming to life again; it’s more of a resurrection than a return home.”

                Emily threaded her left hand through his and squeezed in assent.  Sometimes her husband was a poet without realizing it.

                “Let’s find the end of our rainbow, shall we?” he whispered.

 

                Thunder rumbled in the distance.  It was a low, muffled sound that pulled him through the thick cobwebs of sleep.  There was another rumble and he felt the earth shake.  Not thunder then – guns.  Coming home had been a dream.

                He felt her hand on his arm and rolled over, opening his eyes as he did.  He looked around him and saw that he _was_ home, in his own bed, with his wife.  Her slender fingers touched his arm gently.  Between them, Robin was wriggling under the covers to curl up to sleep.

                “’Night Daddy,” she murmured softly, snuggling next to her mother.

                He kissed the top of her head lightly, “Good night wee lass.”  He looked at Emily.  Her hair was tousled around her shoulders and she was smiling lazily, as she often did right before falling asleep.  Robin regularly joined them in bed at night, when the shadows at three o’clock made her own room too ominous and scary.

                “You were sleeping on your good ear,” Emily said quietly.  “She tried to wake you first.”  She stroked his cheek gently, “You were having quite the dream, there.”  It didn’t happen all of the time, but the nightmares came.  She had them occasionally herself, so she understood how bad they could be.

                “Mmm…” he nodded.  “I heard something though, and that’s good.”  He watches as she relaxed on the pillow and curled her right hand through their daughter’s.

                Emily’s eyes dropped lower, “Very good.  Love you,” she whispered, as her eyes shut.

                Teddy lay quietly, watching his wife and daughter and listening to the night sounds that he could hear.  He watched their breathing settle into the regular rhythm of sleep and was glad that they were both warm and safe here.   He heard his wife’s Wind Woman scatter icy sleet against their bedroom window and rattle the panes intermittently.  They had been home for two weeks now and in spite of the bad weather, it was glorious.  His family, his home, and his work were all settling back into the regular routine that his enlisting in the army had thrown into disarray.  He walked Robin down to New Moon every day to practice the piano.  He had spoken with Cousin Jimmy and Dr. Burnley at length.  Emily had been right; once they settled back into the routine of home and got some rest, their family opened up to them easily.  Cousin Jimmy was worried that he would try to take Emily away again, but he had no plans for that, at least not for any appreciable duration. 

                They would need to make a trip to Toronto soon, both for his business and Emily’s.  Her editor at the Star, Grant Howard, wanted to meet with her about a permanent contract.  As far as he knew, the paper still believed that she was a man.  She had never admitted to deceiving them, but had said, “They didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell,” on more than one occasion.  That lion would have to be bearded sooner, rather than later.

                Dr. Burnley had examined his ears and given him some more hope.  At least he would talk _to_ Teddy about it, rather than just _at_ him.  The swelling had gone down considerably and he could hear everything with his right ear.  If tonight was any indication, there was hope for the left side as well.  That was good news.  The only awkward part about dealing with the doctor was that he just couldn't call the man anything other than 'Doctor Burnley', even though he asked to be called Allan.  Anything else was absolutely at odds with their thirty-odd years of history together.

                His Aunt Katie had invited him up to the Tansy Patch one evening to share a bottle of Scotch and tell him her story.  She was as quixotic as she had ever been, but she was nothing if not absolutely salient in everything that she did and said.  The story of how his parents met was wonderful for Teddy to hear.  He was also thrilled to see photographs of his father and the one of his grandfather that she still had.  Discovering that part of his past was comforting in a way that he couldn`t explain to anyone.  He finally knew who he really was and where he came from.  There were other Gardiners on the Island, apparently, but his aunt had not taken the opportunity to find them.  She was still dealing with her own memories of her husband and the child they had lost.

                Finding out that his grandfather was an artist gave him both perspective and reassurance, somehow.  The painting of the sailboat that he had aspired to equal as a child was only one of eight that his Aunt Katie had in her possession at the Tansy Patch.  He studied them all in detail.  For an amateur, Michael Gardiner was a genius.  He knew how to balance light and shading and was unbelievably competent with perspective as well.  Teddy could see himself in some of the lines, even.  Heredity was a fascinating thing!  When his aunt watched him sketch something absently on a scrap of paper when she was over for tea, she even remarked that he held his pencil like his grandfather.  He desperately wished that he had more of his grandfather`s work to look at.  There had to be sketchbooks somewhere.  That was something he would also have to look into.

                Perry and Ilse were back in Charlottetown taking on parliament.  The rift between the two couples was growing wider and wider, unfortunately.  Neither Emily nor Teddy could figure out why it was there and what they might do to solve it.  That was something that they would have to deal with as soon as possible.

                Teddy looked over at his wife and daughter as they slept.  The painting he had seen on the dock the day they arrived home was half finished already.  It really was amazing what could be done when you could work uninterrupted on something that fascinated you so completely.  He picked up his sketchbook and pencil from the bedside table and eased himself to sit up in bed, relaxing against the headboard.  He wanted to sketch their hands, entwined on the pillow and there was just enough light from the moon as it shone through the window for him to do so.  His hands moved quickly for Emily's; he had drawn them so many times that he knew them from memory.  He took slightly longer with Robin`s.  She changed so much, so frequently, that this was much more difficult.  The graceful curve at her thumb was her mother`s, but the broader, stronger back of her hand was not.  He held up his own hands to compare and saw the ghost of similarity there, but there was something else too, something from some ancestor that neither of them possessed.  The pads of her fingers were callused from her daily hours at the piano.

                He listened to her play every day and smiled in praise when she bothered to ask him what he thought.  In reality, he couldn`t hear any of it, even with his right ear.  He had noticed that it was very difficult to discern the difference between high and low sounds during conversations, but it was even worse with music.  Singing in church was impossible for him.  He just murmured the words under his breath to match his family, without any real idea of what was going on.  He had thought that all he needed in the world was to hear his daughter speak.  Now, recognizing that her art was music, he wished for the ability to hear that too.

                When the sketch was finished, he looked at his work critically.  It was good.  The moonlight and shadow were excellent.  It would be even better in charcoal.  He looked at the clock on Emily`s desk – 5:30 a.m.  It was too early and too dark to start working in his studio, so he put his sketchbook back on the night stand and slid down beneath the covers.  He wrapped his arm around his wife and daughter gently, letting the rhythm of their sleep and trust carry him back to a dreamless, contented sleep.


	22. "How Do You Fly This Plane?"

_“There should be an answer_

_for all of this my friend_

_All your doubts and questions_

_are so appropriate.”_

_\- Lisa Marie Presley – “How Do You Fly This Plane?”_

_  
_

 

                Ilse eyed Emily cautiously over her teacup.  It had been a complete surprise to see her at the door this afternoon.  Once upon a time, Ilse might have come home to find Emily cooking in her kitchen or using her library as a workroom and not had a second thought about it.  The fact that she had arrived at all was a shock now though.  They had barely spoken to one another since Emily and Teddy returned from Europe nearly a month ago.  Their childhood intimacy had been destroyed by the other couple’s new reality.  There was no avoiding it, or shirking away from what was happening.  Their friends were completely different people now.  They were absolutely engrossed in one another, their work, and their daughter.  It had always been difficult to communicate with Emily or Teddy when they had something on their minds, but now Ilse felt like an outsider looking in on a world that she could never be a part of.  The two people she had once known better than anyone, except her husband, were complete strangers to her.  They were also absolutely happy.  There were no tirades or angry outbursts at the Kent dinner table, that was certain.  First of all, Emily’s Murray sensibility would not allow it, and second, they had nothing to argue about that Ilse could imagine.

                It was much different in her marriage and home.  Although they might present a united front in public, things at home had been horrid since Perry’s return.  They were flat broke.  That was probably the largest thing.  That was only compounded by the fact that Ilse had yet to pay Emily back the money she had borrowed.  Although Perry had written to apologize for not telling her about the mortgage, it was still a sore subject with him.  He was back at work at the law firm and in his seat in parliament, but their debts were still mounting daily.  Supporting their family, running their household, travelling for the upcoming election, and entertaining to gain support was more that Perry’s income could support – much more.  And unlike the blissful independence that Emily enjoyed from her writing, Ilse had no means of contributing to their income, or even helping out.  It was a mess!  Perry barely spoke to her at home, and if he did it was always to criticize or complain.  The only night he’d kissed her had been his first night home.

                Emily watched her friend critically.  Ilse looked completely unnerved and uncomfortable with her arrival.  This was what she had been afraid of.  “Ilse, honey, what is it?” Emily asked quietly.

                Ilse looked at her sharply, “What?  Nothing!”  She swallowed the lie, but it did not go down well.  Ilse had wanted to ask Emily for another loan, but Perry had forbidden it and demanded that Ilse avoid her best friend until they could make arrangements to start paying back the other loan.  Ilse hated this!  Emily was her best friend.  How was she supposed to just stop talking to her?  Emily was also far too perceptive to not notice the distance that was growing between them.

                Emily sighed and set down her cup precisely and then pushed it away from her.  Alright.  If Ilse wouldn’t say anything voluntarily then they would have to try something more aggressive.  Teddy hated confrontation and had outright refused to talk to Perry about any of this, saying that they needed to let things be and that time would smooth them over.  Emily disagreed completely; they could not leave things to grow any worse.  “Ilse, you need a break.  Teddy and I are going to Toronto next week.  Why don’t you and Perry take a bit of a holiday from all of this campaigning and come with us?”

                Ilse looked at her friend and shook her head sadly.  At least this was not a lie, “We can’t.  I wish we could, but there’s just too much to do before the next session starts.”  They also could not afford the train tickets, or the hotel, or anything extra right now.

                “It’s only for a week, Ilse.  You’d barely be gone.  Aunt Laura and your father can look after the children.  Robin misses Ben terribly!”  She reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand, “Please?”

                “I…” Ilse shook her head.  Emily was too persuasive and she really wanted to go!  But it was simply impossible.  “I really would love to, but…”

                “No ‘buts’!” Emily countered, evenly, in the voice that the children had learned was immovable.  “Teddy already booked our train tickets, and that is just that.  You’ll have to come along whether you like it or not.  Pack your bags.  We leave on Thursday night.”

 

                “Perry, please?”  Ilse looked at her husband desperately.  She had decided to wait until Wednesday evening to tell him about the trip.  At least then he wouldn’t have time to get so angry and think up as many excuses why they couldn’t go.

                Perry looked up at her in disbelief.  He held up their household ledger, “Where in hell do you think the money will come from, Ilse?”  He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead in utter weariness.  He hated being angry with her all the time; that wasn’t how he had ever envisioned their marriage.  They had always disagreed about things and their rows were legendary, but this was different.  There was no making up or compromising when it came to their finances.  Numbers didn’t change because you threw things.

                Ilse took a deep breath, “What am I supposed to tell Emily?  Teddy already bought all of our tickets.  Can’t we just…”

                “He bought our tickets?  What?  We’re supposed to live on the Kents charity now?”  He glared at Ilse in disbelief.

                “Charity?”  Ilse shook her head in disbelief, “Don’t be an imbecile!  It’s not charity; they invited us to come!”  Ilse was angry now, more than she had ever been.  “They’re our friends, or is that too expensive for your damned budget to handle?”  Ilse grabbed the book and hurled it across the room suddenly.  “Stop acting like a child!”

                “A child?” Perry thundered at her and stood up to meet her, eye to eye.  “I’m the one who’s trying to dig us out of the hole you got us into!  I’m the one working my fingers to the bone and you call me a child?”

                “Yes!” Ilse snapped, vehemently.  “You’re a jealous, rotten, spiteful child.  You couldn’t bear to let Teddy go to war and not go too.  You hate the fact that both he and Emily are successful and we have to struggle to make ends meet.  You can’t see the forest for the trees, you ignorant ass!”  Ilse felt infinitely better to get that off her chest.

                Perry stared at her for a long moment.  Sometimes Ilse was impulsive and unrealistic and sometimes she was uncannily perceptive.  “Damn it woman!” he shook his head and turned away.  He took a deep breath and his shoulders fell in defeat.  It wasn’t her fault, not at all.  He was jealous of their friends and what they seemed to have without even working for it.

                Ilse knew her husband’s cues better than he did.  She came to stand behind him and wrapped her arms around him, letting her cheek rest on his back.  “Perry, please?  I can’t take much more of this.  I love you and I want to help make this better, but I can’t fight you anymore.  Please let’s go to Toronto?  Let’s get out of here for a few days and try to sort this all out?”  She shut her eyes and hoped against hope that he would agree.

                Perry turned around and held her close to him, resting his cheek on the top of her blonde head.  “Forgive me honey?  Please?”

                Ilse looked up at him and smiled, “There’s nothing to forgive, except the asinine stubbornness that I loved you for in the first place.”  She untied his tie and unhooked the top button of his shirt, “But if you’re feeling repentant, I would appreciate a little bit of your time this evening, budget permitting…”  She winked at him coquettishly and grabbed his hand, “Come on!  Let’s go upstairs while the kids are actually asleep?”

                Perry grinned and shook his head in defeat, “Kiss and make up then, is it?”

                Ilse laughed happily, for the first time in years, when she felt his hand slide lower on her back than it needed to.  “Absolutely!”

 

                She squeezed Perry’s hand as they mounted the stairs together.  She had spent years in Montreal, visited London and Paris, but had never been to Toronto.  Perry had never left the Maritimes at all, other than to go off to war and his brief trip to help her move back when they got married.  The great hall of Union Station opened above them.  Ornate and neo-Gothic, the cream-grey stones were impressive.  The clocks on their wrought-iron stands that told passengers the exact time stood like silent sentinels as the crowds of people passed beneath them.  Ilse looked around her and took a deep breath; they were finally here.  She and Perry had made up, but the reality of their situation was there.  Once he realized that she actually understood what was going on, he was much more receptive to her.  At least now they could try to solve it together.  She heard Emily laugh and looked over at their friends.

                During their hours together on the train, Ilse had watched Emily and Teddy closely.  Although she had known them both for more than two decades, she had never really seen them together as a couple.  Teddy was attentive to his wife, but not at all suffocating, as she had thought he would be.  He was courteous and affectionate to his wife, but never tried to change how she did things.  Emily, in turn, expected to be treated as his equal and offered her support to him when it was needed.

                Teddy had explained the details about his injury to her during their train ride.  Perry knew about it, but it was a complete surprise to Ilse that her childhood friend was in this situation.  It also shed light on why Emily was glued to his right side in public.  Ilse could now appreciate fully that her husband had returned from the war with nary a scratch.

                Emily was now smiling up at her husband and speaking to him, close to his right ear.  This was obviously a private joke between the two of them.  Ilse looked away and took in the other passengers at a glance.  The war might never have existed here, but for the attire of many of the females in the room.  Some were dressed, as Ilse herself was, in fine but older travelling dresses.  Many more were wearing the calf-length, drop-waist styles that were so popular; their hair bobbed and covered by only the smallest of hats.  They were also mostly alone, a circumstance that would have been unheard of only five years earlier.

                Ilse looked at Emily again.  She was bareheaded, as had always been her custom.  She looked great in hats, but rarely wore them.  She wore her unique Paris attire effortlessly.  Her ankle-length pants were wide and looked like a skirt, over tall black leather boots.  The black and white striped shirt she wore nipped in at her waist, but was not fitted or boned, the wide black leather belt did the shaping for her.  Emily stood out, not for flamboyance, but for casual, flawless elegance.  That was something that Ilse could not understand about her friend.  How could she look so together?

 

 

 


	23. "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows"

_“At the end of the rainbow there's happiness_

_and to find it how often I've tried_

_but my life is a race, just a wild goose chase_

_and my dreams have all been denied!”_

_\- “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows”_

 

                Emily stood in front of the long mirror in her room and adjusted her skirt slightly.  It wasn’t falling properly.  The jersey fabric that Chanel used now was deceptively revealing.  While she was in Paris, eating little and worrying much, this had not been a problem.  Now that she was home, things were a bit different.  She was naturally thin, but there were some things that this dress would make glaringly obvious, especially to Teddy.  There was no need to worry him about this now, not until they got home.  She discovered that she was pregnant only a few days before they left and assumed that he would refuse to take her with him if he knew.  So it was her little secret.

               There was no way that she was going to miss this meeting with the Star; it was too important to her writing.  Although Emily was not planning on a career in journalism, she (somewhat unexpectedly to herself) enjoyed telling real stories to a real audience.  As Ken said, there were a few criticisms in the letters she received.  It was those that she looked at the closest.  As a writer of fiction, the reviews she took to heart were those that criticized the things she felt were the strongest in her work.  Mr. Carpenter always told her that she should remove the parts she felt were the best and let the work stand on its own, without vanity.  She tried to follow that in her reporting, but still knew her strengths.  Description and storytelling were her trademarks, after all.  It was difficult to omit those from her articles, even with the length restrictions placed on her articles.  Grant Howard was an excellent editor and allowed her a lot more freedom than many might have, but still cut things mercilessly if they went over.  Regardless of the fact that she needed to go and introduce herself properly, she would have wanted to meet him anyway.  He knew good work, and he knew how to prune it well.  She might need someone like that for her stories and novels.  Thus, not travelling was not an option.  So far, she had not felt much in the way of morning sickness, thank the heavens above, and had only gained a few pounds.  It was still early on, so in her travelling clothes, nothing was revealed.  She had forgotten just how this dress fit when she packed it.  She took it off quickly when she heard Teddy on the stairs coming up to their large bedroom on the top floor.  She grabbed one of his dress shirts and pulled it on just in time.

                “Did you get things settled with the bank?” Emily tried to appear nonchalant when he entered and buttoned up the shirt quickly.  He decided to make a few calls to ensure that his representatives at the bank and at his solicitors’ office would be ready for their meetings tomorrow.  She sat down at her dressing table and picked up her hairbrush and then set it down again.  She had already done her hair!  When he failed to respond to her question, she looked at him in the mirror in question.

                Teddy shook his head and rubbed his neck, underneath his left ear, “Dammit!”

                Emily saw his discomfort immediately and was at his side instantly, “What?  What’s wrong?”  Teddy so rarely became frustrated, that it was obvious when something was bothering him.  It was also obvious that his head was aching.  The doctor in London gave him pain medication, but he seldom took it.  It made him dizzy and his nightmares worse.  He also couldn’t seem to paint when he took it.  He preferred to suffer through the pain, in return for clarity and presence in his life and work.

                He sighed, “I can’t hear a thing on the phone, in either ear.  It’s like… I don’t know, like a big tunnel.  Everything echoes.  I have a splitting headache!”  He lay down across the bed, mindless of the clothes that Emily had begun to unpack.  He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.  Everything was going well until he tried to use the telephone.  He desperately hoped that this was not the beginning of another problem.  He was so sure that it was getting better.

                Emily sat on the bed beside him and took one of his hands in hers.  She held it tightly and waited for him to speak again.  The trip had been a bit difficult.  At home his perception of distance and volume was alright, but in large public spaces, he was challenged by how loud the ambient noise was and where sound was coming from.  This made his headaches worse.  He was also more than a bit embarrassed when he couldn’t understand what was being said to him.  That was when it was the most important that Emily be beside him.  She was able to repeat questions in such a way that no one realized he couldn’t hear.  Although the trip was predicated by the necessity to settle affairs with his solicitors, Teddy needed her there.  The trip to the Star was a convenient coincidence.

                “Sorry to be such a poor sport, but maybe you can just take Perry and Ilse out tonight.  I don’t think I will be much company,” he said dejectedly.  More than anything, he wanted to help the other couple relax and try to bridge the gap in their friendship that seemed to have turned cavernous since he and Emily returned home.  The train ride had been alright, but there was still strain.  Perry would talk about mundane things, but never anything personal.  Even when he brought up the topic of the next campaign, his friend had refused to elaborate beyond what was common knowledge.

                “Nonsense!” Emily said quietly.  “You’re the only beau I have.  I’m not about to play gooseberry to the Millers!”  She watched his face and saw him smile slightly.  Obviously he needed a pick-me-up, and she had only packed the one dress, so… “Besides, I am not going to celebrate on my own - at least not this.”

                Teddy looked at her then and sat up, “Are we celebrating the emancipation of the female news phenom from her nom de plume?”  He hugged her gently.  There was no way that he could ignore the fact that Emily had saved his life.  She asked for so little from him in return, but she made him realize that he needed to just accept this new challenge and move on, enjoying the wonderful life they had.  “I thought you liked being Mrs. Kent,” he smiled at her.

                Emily grinned and hugged him back, “Mrs. Kent is fine.”  She shook her head, “But, I am tired of being addressed as “Mister” Kent, or Edward, or Ebenezer, or… did I tell you that I got a letter last week addressed to Egbert?”  She chuckled and shook her head, “And we definitely have more to celebrate.”  She stood up and moved to the window to look out on their back lawn.  Rosedale really was a beautiful neighborhood, if you wanted to live in the city.  Their garden was perfectly manicured, and backed onto a ravine filled with the wild roses that had given the area its name.  Emily preferred the New Moon garden and plants that her family and ancestors had put there.  In their own little garden, it was all of her own choosing.  She would have to remember to take a few cuttings from the wild rose bushes here though.  They would look beautiful in both her gardens at home.

                Teddy grimaced, “And I thought Fred was a bad short form!”  He took a deep breath and stood up, “Alright, you’ve convinced me.  What else is it that we are supposed to celebrate?”  He looked at the clothes on the bed and began to search for his white dress shirt.  If he was going out, he would at least have to change.  He sorted through the suits and shirts, but could not find it.  “Emily, have you seen my white shirt?”

                “I’m wearing it,” Emily said, in response to his wrinkled forehead when he could not locate the article of clothing he was looking for.  One of the maids that came with the house had offered to help her unpack, but that was definitely not Emily’s style.  She had been in the middle of it when the issue of her dress came to light.

                “Oh,” he turned and looked at her.  “Why?  I paid that Chanel woman a small fortune to make you clothes so that you would stop stealing mine.”  He pointed at the shirt hem that grazed her at mid-thigh.  “I don’t care what you say.  That is too short!”  He was emphatic, but playful in his chastisement.  Actually, he thought it looked incredible on her.  He wasn’t sure if all men thought their wives were as beautiful as he did Emily, but then again, not all men were married to Emily.  He looked briefly at his watch – they might have time before dinner.  He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.  “What else are we celebrating?”

                Emily smiled up at him, “The fact that all of those clothes you paid for are not going to fit me very much longer.  That’s what!”  She smiled again, slowly.

                Teddy looked at her thoughtfully, the realization coming to him immediately, “You knew this before we left, didn’t you?”  He had seen her smiling to herself so many times over the past week or so.  It had not struck him as altogether odd; they were home, Robin was a darling, she had finished her new book and was starting another Applegath chronicle – all was truly right in their world.  This was the real explanation, though.

                She nodded, “I’ve only known for a few days.  I didn’t want to worry you.”  She looked up at him evenly, “Please don’t be angry?  I really am fine.”

                Teddy hugged her tightly, “I am definitely not angry.  Definitely.”  He had thought about this possibility since the day the armistice was signed.  Before that, when Emily turned up on the front lines, he had done everything he could to prevent it.  Having your wife in a combat zone was bad enough!  However, as soon as the war was over and Emily found him, he had hoped for this.  Being an only child was not a fate he wanted for Robin.  Both he and Emily spent so much time alone during their childhood and he wanted something else for his daughter.  “I love you so much,” he whispered it into her ear and then pulled back to look at her.  “You are so lovely - don’t shake your head because you know you are - it’s just different when you’re pregnant.”

                Emily dropped her lashes in embarrassment, “Well… you asked why I was wearing your shirt.  My dress is a bit tight, not un-wearable, but you would have figured it out, and I didn’t want to worry you while we are travelling.”  She looked up at him cautiously, “Teddy really, are you happy about this?”

                “Absolutely!”  He smiled at her to reaffirm it, “I can’t say that it is unexpected this time, because I have been waiting for you to tell me this for weeks.  But yes, I am thrilled, I promise.  Take off my shirt and put on your gorgeous Paris fashions and let’s go celebrate.  I hope the Old Mill has champagne!”


	24. "We Danced"

_“And we danced_   
_Out there on that empty hardwood floor_   
_The chairs up and the lights turned way down low_   
_The music played, we held each other close_   
_And we danced.”_

_\- Brad Paisley – “We Danced”_

 

                Ilse sighed with contentment as Perry swayed with her on the dance floor.  Finally he had decided to relax!  It had taken far too much wine and champagne, but Ilse didn’t care right now.  He was acting like the man she married.  She looked over and Emily and Teddy as they danced.  They looked more than radiantly happy and were really and truly in another world.  They always got like that with each other, though.  It had been this way since they were children.  No one else could see the mystery and magic that their artists’ eyes saw.  They could only share it with one another.

                “What is the song?” Teddy whispered to his wife.  He could hear the beat the band was playing and got the gist of the style from his fellow dancers, but really had no idea what the tune might be.  All of the notes were just a mass of sound to him; it was impossible for him to sort them out.

                Emily smiled radiantly, “Absolutely apropos for us.  You’ve no idea!”  She hummed to herself and let her cheek rest on his shoulder, “We heard it in Paris, that night on Montmartre.  ‘I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,’” she sang the words softly, close to his ear.  She was not the musician their daughter was, but she could carry a tune and had a decent alto in the church choir.

                “Really?”  Teddy smiled again.  He had done nothing except smile since she told him their wonderful news.  “I remember that one.”  He even remembered how the tune went, sort of.  He had thought it an unbelievable coincidence that night, now it was just purely magic.  “Maybe that should be our song, hmm?”  He held Emily tighter and strained to hear more of what the band was playing.  He had never thought about music much until his daughter had shown him her infatuation with it.  He did remember that his mother was able to play the piano.  The Tansy Patch hadn’t much furniture, but the beautiful piano in the sitting room was something that his mother cherished.  He even moved it to Montreal when she came to join him.  It was gathering dust in the conservatory of the house he still owned there.  He never even thought about it until now.  Maybe it would be of more use back at their house on the Island.  He would have to see about having someone move it for Robin.  It was right that she should share her grandmother’s love of music.

                Emily smiled, “Except that we’ve found our rainbow.  Maybe to chase more is hedonistic; we have enough happiness for a thousand people.”  She looked around her at the restaurant where Teddy had brought them for dinner.  The name fit: The Old Mill was an Old World inspired building with stucco and dark wood.  The food was excellent and the company incredible.  Ilse and Perry had both opened up considerably over dinner.  Nothing had been solved, but perhaps the ice-breaker of this evening would help.  That was just icing on the cake compared to the wonderful private joy that the two of them shared, and their wonderful daughter, family, and home back on the Island.  Any rainbows the two of them might chase now were purely for sport!

 

 


	25. "Moving Pictures Silent Films"

_“Where have you been,_   
_And what have you done?_   
_I've been under the ground_   
_Eating prayers from this old book I found_   
_Under the ground_   
_Saving it up, and spending it all_   
_On moving pictures_   
_Silent films”_

_\- Great Lakes Swimmers – “Moving Pictures Silent Films”_

Ilse and Emily sat in the bright sunroom the following morning, Ilse sipping at a scalding hot black coffee and Emily valiantly attempting to keep the toast she had devoured moments earlier in her stomach where it belonged.

“You are as green as a frog, Emily Starr!  What gives?  You didn’t even have any wine last night.”  Ilse looked at her friend with suspicion.  Perry was still in bed.  He hadn’t even moved when she got up.  She just shut the curtains and let him be.  Although she was a bit the worse for wear, it was nothing in comparison to how Emily looked.

Emily shut her eyes and took a deep breath, “It’ll pass.  Just give me a few minutes.”  Obviously she was not going to dodge this bullet, as she had hoped.  She awoke when the contents of her stomach lurched into her throat.  Teddy was shaving in the bathroom and she had unceremoniously displaced him from his regular routine.  Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, he felt that this was all his fault and had contrived to apologize profusely while he held her hair back.  She didn’t need an apology, she needed him to make it go away!

Something dawned on Ilse immediately, “I recognize that look!  No wonder you two were so engrossed in one another last night!  Congratulations and why didn’t you tell me?”  Ilse’s tone was demanding.

Emily opened her eyes and took another bite of her toast gingerly, “I only told Teddy last night, so this is the first opportunity I’ve had.”  The toast tasted wonderful going down, but was now threatening to reappear.

“Try some without butter, that usually solved it for me,” Ilse offered reasonably.  She picked up a slice of toast and tore the crust off, then handed it to her friend.  “Really chew it too, that’s what dad always tells his patients.  Teddy must be as prostrate as Perry; he was celebrating in fine style last night!”  Ilse took another sip of coffee and decided that the toast might not be a bad idea for her either.  Her malaise was not attributed to pregnancy though, just overindulgence.  She buttered her own slice and dropped some strawberry jam on top.

Almost instantly, a maid appeared and replaced the nearly empty basket of bread with a fresh one.

Ilse stared at her as she disappeared just as quickly, “What is with this place?  These magical little people appear out of nowhere and then retreat to their little hidey holes just as fast.  It’s like they are little elves who can sense when your coffee is finished, or something.”  She shook her head again.  It had obviously cost Teddy a small fortune to rent this place for the week.

Emily was satisfied that this new bread product would remain where it should and looked at Ilse companionably, “I know.  They seem to think that we need help all of the time.  I guess it’s nice for them when we’re here, there’s not a lot to do when we’re not.  Teddy has been up for hours, he was in his studio working at the crack of dawn.  The light in there is incredible, I’ll show you around a bit when he gets done.”

“Are you telling me that you own this place?”  Ilse was aghast and incredulous.  She saw the sign as they drove in.  Everyone knew that Rosedale was one of the most elite neighborhoods in Toronto – somewhat like Mont Royal in Montreal, but richer.  Emily and Teddy were well off; everyone knew that.  Before Emily went to France there were never any problems, and she made significant improvements to the farm as well.  Although she made a decent living from her writing, it took more than that to keep up two houses.  She bought the Tansy Patch for Teddy’s aunt and had also purchased another strip of land on the shore as well.  Ilse knew that Teddy had a house in Montreal, but assumed that he sold it when he moved to the Island after marrying Emily.  Now she wasn’t so sure.

Emily shrugged it off, “Teddy bought it before we were married.  I’ve only been here once before when we had to come here to settle some affairs before he left for the war.”  Emily took a chance and tried another slice of toast, without butter again this time.  She was ravenous every morning, but had not managed to hold onto any of her food so far today.  “He’ll likely need me to go to the bank with him this afternoon, but we can do a bit of window shopping afterwards, if you’d like?”  Emily was thinking that she might just invest in a few new pieces of clothing.  At home, she could make do and one letter to Coco would solve the problem as fast as a boat could arrive from France, but in the meantime she would need some things that were slightly larger.

Ilse took a deep breath and decided, against her better judgment, and Perry’s list of strictly forbidden topics, that she needed to explain things to Emily.  “Emily, Perry and I are in big trouble.”  She explained what she knew about their financial situation to her friend and then sat back in her chair dejectedly.  “I am so sorry, Emily.  I really meant to pay you back what you lent me, but it just can’t happen right now.”  She looked up at her friend in embarrassment.

Emily reached over the table and grabbed her friend’s hand tightly, “Oh Ilse!  Forget about that!  I gave you the money, don’t worry about paying me back.  I am so sorry about the rest of this.  Teddy and I knew something was wrong, but we couldn’t figure out what.  We never even dreamed that you were in trouble like this.  Can we help?”

Ilse shook her head violently, “No!  And please Emily, please don’t tell Perry I said anything about it to you?  He’ll be as mad as a nest of hornets if he finds out!”  Regardless of the fact that she might have to pay the piper when (rather if) she told her husband about this conversation, it felt good to get it off her chest.  “I just wanted to tell you so you would understand why we’ve… well… Perry has been embarrassed to see you because we can’t start paying you back.”

“I meant what I said, Ilse.  Forget it.  I’ll tell Perry the same thing.”  She saw the look of panic on her best friend’s face and squeezed her hand, “Don’t worry, I won’t let on that you said anything about it.”  She sat back in her chair again and took a deep breath, “But really, if you need our help…”

Ilse’s eyes grew dark, “I said no and I meant it!”  She stood up violently and the dishes on the table clattered nervously.  “Emily we can’t take charity from you!”  Ilse knew that she was arguing the same point that Perry had with her only a few days ago.  But somehow it was different – the Burnley pride would only suffer so much Murray!  And sometimes, Emily really was a Murray!

Emily knew that there was no use bantering words with one of the best speakers on Prince Edward Island, likely in all of Canada.  Ilse had certainly made a name for herself when she had been filling in for Perry.  It was a shame that she couldn’t turn that skill into something that would help her family.  “Wait a minute!”  Emily suddenly had an idea, “What if _you_ earned the money?”

Ilse stared at Emily in disbelief, “Earned money?  Doing what?”  She suddenly had an inkling of what her friend was thinking.  “Oh no you don’t!  You are not going to pay me to type your stories or something.  That’s worse than charity, Emily Starr, that’s pity!  You have to be the most insufferable, pig-headed, _Murray_ that ever walked the Island!”  With that, Ilse took the glass dish of strawberry preserves and smashed it, contents and all, on the tile floor.  “I have no idea why I trusted you enough to tell you about this.”  She glared at her friend in disgust.  “You belong here, in your perfect little mansion with your perfect little family and your perfect little career!  You have no idea what it’s like for those of us who aren’t lucky enough to have been born as Emily Starr.”

Ilse stopped to take a breath and Emily seized her chance.  She stood up to her full height, some three inches over Ilse, and said quietly, “Sit down and behave yourself!”  Emily had been in enough arguments with Ilse Burnley in twenty-five years to know that you had to give as good as you got or she would walk all over you.  Fortunately, those same twenty-five years had taught her a thing or two about fighting with her best friend.

Ilse did not sit, but she did take another breath.

“First of all,” Emily continued, “you can’t type!  Your spelling and grammar are atrocious and you don’t pay any attention to what you are doing.  I would never hire you to do that – one of your kids could do a better job!  Secondly, don’t you _ever_ talk about my family that way again.  You have five wonderful children and a husband who loves you so desperately he’d do anything to protect you.  Why do you think he didn’t tell you about the mortgage?”  She didn’t let Ilse answer, “It was only because he thought he might fall a peg or two down in your opinion of him.”  Somehow supporting Perry seemed like the logical thing to do.  “I don’t agree with it, but that’s why he did it.  And now that he’s come back he has to adjust to a brand new reality.  It was no picnic over there, Ilse; had I not seen it for myself I would never have believed it.  I only wrote about the big stuff, but the minutia was just as powerful.  If Teddy and I have anything that you and Perry don’t, it’s a shared understanding of just how horrible that was.  None of this,” she waved her hand at the room around her, “matters to us at all.  I didn’t ask for it – it isn’t even really mine!  Whatever I do have, I have worked for, and you know that’s the truth.  While you were off seeing the world after high school I was writing my fingers to the bone to get to where I am now.”  Emily had to pause herself to gather her wits about her.

“I’m sorry, Emily.  I should never have said that about your family,” Ilse looked away and out over the garden.  She sighed, “You’re right.  Ever since Perry came back it’s like I don’t know who he is half the time.  He sits and stares at ledgers and doesn’t remember to talk to the kids.  We fight all the time, and while that used to be wonderful, now it isn’t because we never make up.  Most of the time I don’t even know why we’re fighting or what it is about.”  Ilse walked over to the wall of glass and touched it with her hand, trying to put herself in the magical world on the outside.  “And I am unbelievably jealous of what you have!”  She said the words quietly, but knew that Emily heard her anyway.

“Jealous?  Why on earth Ilse…”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret anything I’ve done.  I wouldn’t be Mrs. Kent for all the tea in China.  It’s not Teddy I am jealous of, don’t worry!  It’s…it’s you.  It’s your career.  You did work hard, you did give up a lot of opportunities, but I had a career once too.  Actually, I had a career for the past four years!  I loved what I was doing, Emily.  I was making a difference!  Now I sit at home and make menus for all of the damn tea parties I am supposed to host as the ever-loving wife of the war hero cum statesman that I married.  You don’t need a menu for a tea party – it’s tea and cookies every damn time!”  Ilse was infuriated and began pacing.  “It’s all so frivolous - especially when we can’t afford to do it anyway!”

Emily walked over to her friend and took her by the shoulders, “Will you please listen to what I have to say?”

Ilse nodded mutely.

“You were a wonderful actress.  You are an incredible speaker.  That was always your gift.  While your kids love their bedtime stories as told by one of the best elocutionists in the country, you need more than that.  I understand that, and I think there is a way for you to do it, and help yourself out of whatever financial mess you are in.  Will you let me explain it to you?”  Emily looked at her friend beseechingly.

Ilse finally sat and took up her coffee cup again.  She looked over it at Emily.  Once again, she was reminded that _this_ Emily was not the same Emily she had known all of her life.  Although Ilse might be half a year older, this Emily was decades ahead of her.  She had experienced something so unique and different that it made her stand out in a way that she never had before.  Emily had always been a bit of an enigma, but now she was not only the insightful and talented writer, she also had the experience to go with it.  “What do you have in mind?” Ilse asked quietly.

While she had been looking after Teddy’s investments, one thing had definitely intrigued Emily.  She knew very little about communications, less about transportation, and nothing about property.  What she did know was telling stories.  The development of the motion picture fascinated her.  She had invested in some films and knew that Teddy felt it was a good idea.  Between that and the new advances in radio communication, she knew there was a place for Ilse’s talent.  “Have you ever thought about acting in a movie?”  Emily picked up another piece of dry toast and chewed it slowly.  She was still starving!

Ilse blinked at her friend in astonishment, “You mean a motion picture?”  Ilse had seen movies with Emily before.  Her friend was fascinated by them.  Ilse couldn’t really get around the fact that there was no talking and the printed lines made the story choppy and disjointed.

“Absolutely,” Emily took a cautious sip of tea, but then grimaced and put it down.  Tea tasted funny now and definitely did not agree with her.   “Hollywood is doing some wonderful things.  The technology is nothing short of amazing.”

“But I’m an actress, Emily – or I was.  How am I supposed to act without talking?” Although she wasn’t really positive, this idea just might have merit.  It was obvious that the motion picture was going to be the new stage for actors and actresses.  She just wasn’t sure if it was her arena – she also wasn’t sure if she could do it.

Emily considered something for a moment, “Have you heard of Marconi?” When Ilse shook her head, Emily explained, “He’s a radio pioneer, developing national networks, broadcasts that can be heard all over the world – that sort of thing.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Hollywood is not going to be long in figuring out how to put sound with their pictures.  And you – you have that!”  She looked at Ilse thoughtfully.  Ilse Burnley had an extravagant style and an even bigger personality.  She had always dressed with flair and individuality and depicted that when she spoke as well.  She could read pure emotion into the printed word.  Hollywood would need that kind of talent, not just pretty faces, if it planned to do what she was thinking about.

“Do you really think I could do that?” Ilse’s voice was a whisper.  Ten years of marriage and five children had put a lot of distance between her and the stage.  Politics was one thing – you had an opinion and you voiced it.  That was easy.  Although she made her performances on stage look effortless, they were anything but.  The hours she spent learning lines and morphing herself into the character she would become were difficult and draining.  How would she ever do that and be a mother to her children?  How would she do that and still help Perry with his campaign?  Oh God!  Perry!  He would never agree to this.  “Perry would _never_ let me do this!”

“What is it that I won’t let you do now?” Perry stepped into the breakfast room and threw himself into one of the wicker chairs.  Immediately, the maid brought him a plate and a steaming mug of coffee.  She refilled Ilse’s as well.  “Morning Emily,” Perry nodded to her and began to shovel in his eggs and bacon with gusto.  He looked over his food at his wife in question.

“Well…” Ilse skwirmed in her chair slightly.  Then, she made the decision to tell her husband everything.  “I was telling Emily about some of the troubles we’ve been having.” She resolutely ignored his widening eyes and reddening face.  His temper would have to hear her out!  “She was kind enough to suggest that perhaps there is a way that I can contribute.  She thinks I would be a great motion picture actress.”  There.  She had spit it out – and just in time too.  Perry’s face had turned from bright red to the ashen white that meant he was really going to lose it.

Perry swallowed the mouthful of eggs and stared at his wife.  He was angry – more than angry.  They had agreed that their financial situation was none of the Kents’ business.  Last night had been a good night for him and Ilse.  It had been a good idea to come here after all.  Sitting in his office brooding over their problems was not going to accomplish anything.  On the other hand, seeing everything that he couldn’t give his family was a bit disheartening as well.  Ilse had no business bringing Emily and Teddy into this!  “You told her what?”

Ilse sighed.

Emily interrupted, “She told me that things are a bit tight.  When you and I talked about the whole mortgage business in France I had no idea how things were going to turn out.  Forget about the money I gave her.  That’s done.  What is really important is that you two get back on your feet again,” she looked at Perry cautiously.  She knew he felt guilty about the loan, so she would have to play on that to keep him from erupting.  “Ilse is a brilliant actress – we all know that.  Movies are the new stage and she just might be what they are looking for.”

Perry stared at the two women in shock.  They weren’t talking about money – or at least not just about money.  They were talking about something far larger.  He was not an ardent supporter of suffrage, but he definitely saw the contradictions, especially since returning from the war.  Women had been doing their husbands’ and fathers’ work for five years.  Why were men so hell-bent on thinking that they would now go happily back to the kitchen and parlor?  He had certainly sensed Ilse’s reticence in particular.  That and they shouldn’t have to.  Ilse had shown herself to be more than capable as his replacement.  In fact, there were some things that he never could have done that she had tackled and won.  Emily and Ilse were not talking about a solution to their financial problems here, they were talking about changing their life; theirs and those of all women.  He sat back in his chair and looked at them, then took a deep breath, “You’re talking about Ilse working in Hollywood, aren’t you?”

Emily shrugged, “I don’t know for sure, but I think it is worth a shot.  You know she’s talented.  Why don’t you just see if it might work?”  This was a much better result than she had hoped for.  Perry was not yelling or breaking china (the erstwhile maid did need to come and deal with the strawberry jam issue).  He was listening.  “This is the next big thing Perry.  There is no reason that she can’t be a part of it, is there?”

“Geography is a bit of an issue,” Teddy had been standing in the doorway, listening to most of their conversation.  He had heard something break during Ilse’s tirade and had hurried over to make sure that Emily was alright.  What he overheard was the explanation for everything that was going on in his friends’ life.  What he had also heard was that his wife was far more insightful about business and progress than even he had thought.  He came in and moved toward the chair at Emily’s side, carefully avoiding the congealed red and crystal mess on the floor.  He sat down and nodded to the maid when she brought his coffee, “Can you take care of that please, Abbey?  Thanks.”  He took a sip of coffee and then continued, “Hollywood is literally on the other side of the world from Charlottetown.”

Emily acknowledged that ruefully, “I never really thought about that.”

“But,” Teddy continued, “New York is not.  There is a lot going on there too, and it is only a day’s train ride from home.”  He looked at Ilse, “ _If_ this is something that you want to look into, then you need to go to New York, at very least.  Canada is a bit behind the times, unfortunately, at least in this.  The radio industry is another matter.  We are going to have a national network in ten years – I guarantee that.”  He looked at Perry in sympathy, “What you need to look at is whether you can handle this.  I know from experience that having a determined and independent wife can be slightly disconcerting at times.”  He grinned at Emily and squeezed her hand affectionately.  “At least there isn’t a war that Ilse would be performing in.”

Perry took a deep breath and, for the first time in their marriage, looked at his wife as an equal, “Do you want to do this?”  He knew what she would say, and it scared him.

Ilse grabbed his hand, “I want to help and I want to work.  I can’t run for office yet, and they won’t pay me to perform at the summer theater.  I miss the stage and I miss being busy – this kind of busy.  But we can’t move right now, I know that.”  She sighed, no matter how much she wanted this, Perry’s dream of becoming the Prime Minister was more important.  Hell, it had been the dream that all four of them had since they were children play-acting and pretending through their summers on the Island.

Before Perry could speak, Emily interrupted, “You don’t have to move, Ilse.”  She looked over at her husband and took a leap of faith, “But we do.”

“What?” Perry looked at them in confusion.  The idea of any of them leaving the Island was ridiculous.  That was home.

“We’ve been wrestling with this for a while,” Emily sighed.  Teddy was looking at her curiously.  They had, indeed, talked about the possibility of relocating.  Teddy owed a large piece of property on Long Island, outside of New York City – he had for years.  That was where he always talked about building their “dream house”.  For Emily, this had always been an abstract concept.  He also had houses in Montreal and this one in Toronto, and their little Disappointed House was really their home.  She didn’t need a castle and she had told him as much.  She had also told him that she never wanted to leave the Island.  But the reality was that he was going to need to spend more time away from home than at home.  And because of his injury, she would need to travel with him.  New York was also the mecca of publishing and journalism.  Living there would make it easier on everyone, and Ilse could stay there with them.  “Teddy’s business is getting a lot more complicated.  He would end up travelling and being away far too much.  If we finally built on our property there, it would be simpler for everyone.”

“Are you talking about _moving_ to New York City for good?” Ilse was stunned.  Emily was Prince Edward Island!  Her stories and books were quintessential to the Island culture.  Emily had denied Janet Royal’s invitation and chosen to stay home after high school ended.  Now she was talking about moving there?  This made no sense at all.

Teddy squeezed Emily’s hand, “We have talked about it – although not in this much detail,” his eyes flashed a brief warning at his wife.  “If we lived there, I could do a lot of business more easily, and Emily would have a lot of opportunities as well.  It would also give you a home base to travel from, Ilse, if you decide that this is the direction that you want to go.  I think we are going to see a big change in transportation in the next few years too.  Being closer to a major port is a good thing.”  He looked at his friends, “You have to make the decision though, as Emily and I do.  But, the idea has merit, for all of us.”

Perry could see the logic, but suddenly felt left out of this new equation.  “What does that mean for our campaign, though?”  He tried not to put his personal feelings into this.  “You are as important to the riding as I am, Ilse, and you know that.”  He had never said this to his wife before – he just assumed that she knew it.  Her smile was a reward that he had never expected.

“Really?” she looked at her husband in disbelief.  “You think it will really make a difference for you if I am not there?”  This was something she had struggled with when Perry returned.  All of a sudden, the people that had sought her out for assistance were going to someone else.  That it was her husband made it bearable, but it was still uncomfortable.

“Absolutely!” Perry nodded.  “You have no idea how many times a day I see someone shake their head at something I say and then ask if you are around.  You really made an impression on people.”  He looked at Emily and Teddy and decided to be honest with them, “The idea is good.  I know it was hard for Ilse to give up her career for mine and for the kids.  I would like to see her do what she loves again.  And the money wouldn’t hurt either.”  He took a deep breath and continued, “I invested in a few things that were a bit risky before the war.  When I was working for both the law firm and had my seat in government it was no problem to pay back the loans I took out.  But then…” he shook his head.

Teddy nodded in understanding, “You financed a speculative investment with your house as collateral then?”

Perry nodded.

Ilse scrunched up her forehead in confusion.  She looked at Emily, “What did he just say?”

Emily translated loosely, “Invested in something by borrowing money on the value of your house.”  She turned to Perry, “And now you have to dig yourself out of a hole?”

Perry nodded again, “Yes, and with a campaign to run it gets harder and harder.  I don’t have the time to take on more clients at the firm and everything is so much more expensive than it used to be.”  He looked at his friends again, “I want to apologize for behaving so badly over the past month or so.  This has been weighing pretty heavily on both of our minds and we,” he grabbed Ilse’s hand suddenly, “Emily, we can’t pay you back right now.  I’m sorry.”

Emily shrugged, “I told Ilse earlier, it wasn’t a loan to start with.  I just gave her the money.  When I explained it to you in France I was just getting my back up because you thought it was her fault or something.  Take that off your list of things to worry about, Perry.”  She looked over at Teddy and lifted her eyebrows in question.  She knew what he was going to say, intuitively, and after her conversation with Ilse this morning, knew it was the right way to approach it.

“What if I finance your campaign?” Teddy asked, shifting in his chair and taking another sip of his coffee.  He waved the maid away when she tried to bring him a plate of breakfast.  “And what if Ilse goes back to doing what she was doing while you were away?  She can travel around and talk to people informally without you and then you can respond to things at rallies with a better understanding of what is going on.  I also don’t think you should run for representative.”

Perry was dumbfounded, “Hold on, Ted.”  He looked at his friend, “Finance the whole campaign?  Have you any idea…”

Teddy interrupted him, “I know what I’m getting into, if that’s what you’re asking.  I also know you can win.  You need to be the next premier.”

“Premier?” Ilse looked at her husband in shock, “You were going to run for Premier and you never even told me?”  Now this was something new!  She had written him countless times that she wanted him to run for Prime Minister.  She hadn’t really been joking, but…

Perry shook his head at her, slightly and looked back at Teddy, “Where did you come up with that idea?  I’m not ready to run for Premier!  I only spent two years in the cabinet before I left for the war.  My wife did the rest of it.”  He looked at Ilse in thanks.

“Exactly,” Teddy said, “Everyone in the province knows that you, and only you, left and fought for Canada.  The rest of them sat in parliament and argued.  You, and only you, let your wife take over your seat while you were gone.  The women in the province, who will be voting very soon whether the old boys club likes it or not, will support you because of that.  Those women who lost someone at the front will pressure the men they know to vote for you.  There will be no better time for you to run, Perry, and you know it.”  Teddy knew this was the right thing to do.  He and Emily had discussed it at length over the past couple of weeks.  There was no one set to run who had Perry’s credentials.

“Stovepipe Town for Premier?” Perry was still doubtful.  This sounded like one of Emily’s fantastic yarns.

Emily nodded emphatically, “Absolutely!  This is a new century, a new world.  The class system that used to exist is gone.  Just ask the Romanovs!” she grimaced.  Emily had met some members of the Russian royal family while in Paris.  Although there was a lot to be said about the class inequality in so many countries, they were people.  No one should be treated as that family was being treated.  “Anyway, it makes it an even better campaign.  You are a self-made man.  You have friends from all walks of life, and your wife supports women’s rights and your career, but still has her own.  You are the modern man Perry, it is time the province left the dark ages and joined the new century.”  Emily sat back in her chair and found Teddy’s hand.  This was definitely the right thing to do.

Ilse’s eyes glistened with delight, “Perry, they’re right.  You may not realize it, but the people like you.  They like you because you are one of them.  You’ve worked for years to change who you were for others, but the people love you for who you really are!” Ilse looked at her husband and moved her chair closer, dropping her voice lower to emphasize what she was saying, “Perry, you are the Island.  You worked hard to get to where you are.  People can identify with that – you are everyman’s dream come true, just because you are every man.  You can do this, I know you can!”

There was a reason that Ilse had been a very successful actress.  She could make anyone believe in anything.  “But what about you?”  Perry’s thoughts returned to the conversation that he had walked in on.  “Ilse, you deserve a chance to do what you want, too.  This shouldn’t be about me.  This whole conversation started with a chance for you to go back to work.  I don’t want this dream of mine to take precedence over you anymore.”  He looked at her emphatically, “I’ve done that too much, girl.  I’m sorry.”  He took both of her hands and held them to his lips.

Ilse was unbelieving.  He husband never spoke this way.  He was ambition personified.  Still, her eyes shut to hold back the tears.

 

 


	26. "When the Stars Go Blue"

_“Where do you go when you're lonely_   
_Where do you go when you're blue_   
_Where do you go when you're lonely_   
_I'll follow you”_

_\- The Corrs – “When the Stars Go Blue”_

Emily nodded at her husband and the two of them left silently.  Neither Perry nor Ilse even noticed.  In the hallway outside the breakfast room, Emily looked at Teddy, “Well, well… King-making are we?”  Her tone was light and jesting.

“Absolutely!” Teddy nodded.  “Didn’t expect the tears though, that was a great play on Ilse’s part.”  He led his wife down the long hallway toward his studio.  The light from the walls of windows poured through the open door into the hallway, spilling patterns of light onto the waxed hardwood.  “Come and look at something,” he motioned toward the room.

Emily was always surprised at the warmth in this room.  The glass reflected the heat somewhat like the greenhouse that she and Cousin Jimmy had finally built at New Moon, but it was more than that.  In his studio at home, sometimes the smell of linseed oil was a bit overpowering.  Not here.  It just smelled like Teddy, and that always warmed some part of her soul that was cold without him.

“Here,” he said.  “I’m almost done, but I thought I should ask your opinion.”  He swallowed back the nerves for a moment.  He never showed Emily his work before it was completed, not because he couldn’t or didn’t want her to see it, but because he was afraid of what she would say.  Of course she would _say_ that she liked it, he wanted to hear what she wouldn’t say, and that was what he was afraid of.

Emily walked with him to the spot behind his easel.  What she saw was not what she expected.  She knew that he had been working on a painting of her and Robin – at least that was what he had told her.  This was not that painting.

It was a portrait of Emily, there was no doubt about that.  But this wasn’t anything like he had ever painted before.  Blacks and reds – dark, rich, and smoldering; shadows and luminosity – smoke and mirrors, black silk and pearls.  This was his Paris picture, the one he had dreamed up while they were at dinner in Montmartre.  He hadn’t had time to even start it while they were there, so it had lingered in his mind and under his hands for over a year.  He had brought the red paint home from Paris with him, even.  You couldn’t buy it here – it was a deeper blood color than anything the suppliers sold on this side of the ocean.  Only the Parisians dared use it – or at least that is what he had been told.  The woman in this painting had strength and a sensuality that could carry the strong color.  The woman in this painting was also his wife.  Teddy had slaved over it, both in his studio at home and in his sketchbooks.  He had rarely had to re-draw something this often, especially anything that involved Emily, but then again, this had to be perfect.  There had to be the beauty of the moment and the underlying anguish of the war at the same time, just as she had written in her piece, “The Looking Glass is Broken,” composed in a moment of inspiration on that very same night.

“Well?” he asked hesitantly.  He finally dared to look at her and was surprised by what he saw.  Emily was normally slightly embarrassed and bemused when she saw pictures of herself.  He had given up trying to _not_ paint her at all, and sometimes she would show up in the most unexpected places – the turn of a head, the sweep of lashes on a cheek, somewhere in everyone he painted was a bit of Emily.  That, she had become accustomed to, but the look on her face this time was not that look.

“What is this for?” she said, with more calm than she would have thought possible.  Her heart was thudding in her chest.  All of a sudden the room had become too warm, and it had nothing to do with the March sunshine that filled the space.

“For?” Teddy was confused, “What do you mean?”  He pulled up a stool and sat down next to her.  He wanted to hear this clearly.

She tore her eyes away from it for a moment to look at him, “Who is going to see this?”  She looked back at it, still shocked by how it made her feel.  Seeing her emotions so blatantly on a piece of canvas made her extremely uncomfortable.  In particular, there was a part of her that was reserved for Teddy that she _never_ let anyone else see.  He had drawn it only once before (at least to her knowledge), and that charcoal sketch was something he kept in his private collection.  A huge oil painting?  That was not likely to remain just between them.  “I don’t like it!” she blurted suddenly in fear.  “Get rid of it!”

Teddy was absolutely stunned.  She had never said anything like this before to him and it cut him like a knife, “You want me to get rid of it?”  He wanted to cry out in pain.  He hadn’t expected her honesty and he had never expected her negative opinion to hurt him so much.  He had been afraid that she would not be honest, but now he knew that this was worse.  Something else in her words hurt him too.  Did she not like the way it felt to be with him like that?

Emily shut her eyes.  The words sounded like daggers to her now, when she heard them repeated back, especially with the obvious pain that he felt underneath them.  She remembered, far too vividly, similar words she had heard once, words that had shaped her life and killed her first book.  “I…” she stammered, “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to look at her husband.  What she saw in his eyes was like a mortal wound – exactly what she had feared she would see.  She took a deep breath and touched his hand gently.

He shook her touch off, quickly, “If you don’t like it, then you don’t like it.  I’ll do as you asked and get rid of it.”  He stood up quickly and moved toward the painting.  How did one destroy something this beautiful?  At least it was beautiful in his mind.  This would be like destroying their time together.

“Teddy, no!” Emily stood between him and the painting.  “Listen to me, please?  I want to explain.”  She felt another twinge of nausea and gulped it back.  This was more important.

He spun around and shook his head, “You asked me what it was for.  You asked me who was going to see it.  Then you told me you didn’t like it and I needed to get rid of it.  I don’t need a lot more explanation than that!”  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  It felt like Emily had taken his heart and ripped it physically from his body.  This had been one of the hardest paintings he had ever done – not technically, but in its conception and emotion.  Putting Emily as his wife and lover on display was something he had wrestled with for months.  The beauty of what he wanted to create had taken precedence over propriety.

“Yes, you do,” Emily said softly.  “You deserve more than that.  This deserves more than that,” she indicated the picture with her hand when he turned around.  “This is the most beautiful work you’ve ever done.”  She could be honest about that easily.  It was beautiful; balanced, emotive and powerful.  She saw his expression turn confused and continued, “It’s just too intimate.  I’m not comfortable with it.”

He had never really thought about that before.  He had never really considered what it must be like for her to see herself on display.  “So,” he said cautiously, “You like it but you don’t want it shown?”  That made more sense.  Still, it made him uncomfortable.  It made him realize that he had taken her for granted all of these years.  When he couldn’t quite get something right in a portrait he would substitute Emily, in his eyes making the subject more beautiful.  He saw now that this might not have been his right after all.  All of these years he had taken her acquiescence to his use of her in his paintings for granted.

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”  She took a deep breath and sat down on his stool and rubbed her stomach absently.  Obviously breakfast was not her meal.  “Give me a second, okay?”  She put her head down between her knees and took slow, deep breaths.  Getting emotional over this was not what her child wanted, obviously.

Teddy came to stand beside her and rubbed her back, gently.  He heard her murmur something, but couldn’t make it out.  He sank down beside her, “I can’t hear you honey, I’m sorry.”  He was apologizing for more than one thing right now: the morning sickness, taking her for granted, the fact that he couldn’t hear her, and for over-reacting.

She lifted her head slowly, “Do you have any idea what I was thinking about, really?”  She had never talked to him about her feelings about this, save the time she had let him read her journal.  They were closer to each other now than they ever had been.  In spite of the part of her that was reluctantly Victorian, Emily felt like she had to open this door.

“Well,” he looked at her closely, “I imagine that you were thinking about…”

“No,” Emily interrupted, “You can’t imagine it, you have to know it.  What was I thinking?  What exactly did you paint here?”  If he didn’t know, that would be another discussion.  Maybe everything she had been afraid of was really not even there.  She sat up and looked at him directly, “What did you see in my eyes that made you do this?”

Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable.  He had always just painted what he felt, never tried to put it into words, especially with Emily, who was the consummate wordsmith.  Now he had to.  “You,” he said simply.  “I saw the you I see every night when we’re alone.  I saw how your eyes darken before you shut them when I kiss you.  It was all of that in one glance.”  He looked at her desperately.  He had obviously embarrassed her by what he had painted.  He didn’t want his words to hurt her more.

He had avoided saying the words outright so she had to say them now.  She looked out the window at the garden for a moment to collect her thoughts.  There was a twinge of green on the lawn, and where the snow had melted away from the flower beds, tiny white crocuses were poking their heads through their covering of mulch.  Spring: the symbolism was unavoidable.  “What you painted is beautiful, and I should never have said that I didn’t like it, those were not the right words,” she began.  “What you saw is yours, and only yours.  I don’t want it on display for the world to see.  When I shut my eyes like that, it’s you who kisses me, and only you.  I don’t want any other lover.”  There.  She said it.  Even in her explanation about the kiss she had given Dean, she had not been this direct.  She had felt it, thought it, even written about it, but she had never said it to him.  There had been so many times, before they were together, that she had thought to substitute someone else for Teddy.  She had never been able to.  She never would be able to.  She wanted to move away, wanted to put some distance between them.  She had said that she was connected to him, said that she didn’t mind that, but now it was too close, almost.  She didn’t move, just looked up at him and waited.  He could take this and shatter her heart with it.

He didn’t.

Teddy shuddered.  She had never said that to him before.  She stood up in front of the world and became his wife.  She travelled across an ocean and across a battlefield to save his life with a voice that was beyond reality, but he had never felt her closer to him than he did at that moment.  “Emily…” he whispered.  What Teddy saw in her eyes just then was everything he had tried to paint, and more.  The beauty he tried so hard to replicate was right in front of him, and it was unbelievable.  It was so much more than he would ever be able to portray in mere oil.  “Tell me what to do,” he said quietly.

“It is yours,” she whispered.  “What you do with it is up to you.”  She had to let him decide.

“It’s ours,” he said back to her.  He noticed then that they weren’t touching.  Funny – he had felt like he was holding her in his arms.  “I never thought about it like that before.  It’s like our private life on display.  I don’t want that.”  He nodded in decision, “I won’t show it.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, bowing her head.  “I don’t want you to get rid of it.  I should never have said that.”  She looked back at the painting and put her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.  All of that strength and darkness of color against the light from the windows was breathtaking.  Her husband’s genius wasn’t something she ignored, but to see it so starkly obvious was sometimes a shock – a wonderful one.

He agreed, “That would have been hard.  I don’t think I could have, actually.”  He felt her tense at that and knew that there was something painful here.  “What?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I had to, once.  It was devastating.  I couldn’t put you through that for the sake of my Murray prudence.”  She had never told him about her _Seller of Dreams_ , their book, really, the one Dean had prompted her to destroy.  That still hurt now, in the same way that losing someone dear to you hurt, even years after.  She knew Teddy would ask her, so she said, “I’ll tell you about it sometime, just not right now.”  Her stomach was churning again.  “Your son is a picky eater!”

Teddy looked at her critically, “Do we need to go home?”  He was worried about her.  She had not been this ill with Robin, and she had not managed to keep anything down since they had arrived.  He was not going to take any chances, not when it came to her health.  Their business could wait, until after the baby was born, if necessary.  There were some things that were far more important than meetings, no matter who they were with.  His wife and children were those things for him.  He felt closer to the woman at his side than ever before, but this pregnancy business was still a mystery to him, a female secret that no male could ever truly comprehend.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Emily shook her dark head at her husband.  “This too shall pass,” she quoted shamelessly.  “I just have to find something he will let me eat.  Don’t worry about me,” she took his hand and squeezed it, “I’ll be just fine.  Come on, let’s find Perry and Ilse and see what the grand plan is now.”

As they walked back into the house, Emily sighed with relief.  More things had been settled today than she had anticipated.  She had never thought that this would be the day to face the demon she had wrestled for years.  Teddy had used her in almost every painting of his that she had ever seen.  Landscapes were the exception, and she supposed that was definitely a good thing.  But she had never really been comfortable with it, not if she was totally honest with herself.  She remembered her ire when Ilse had told her that the Smiling Girl was really her, a copy of the old sketch he had done of her as a child.  That still rankled a bit, but not nearly so much as before.  She had seen it.  Teddy had taken her to the Salon in Paris where it was a part of a permanent exhibit of his work when they were there on their honeymoon.  It was good, but she felt oddly like a pheasant under glass when she looked at it.  As they had strolled through the rest of the museum, she wondered, self-consciously, how many people knew that it was she?  Teddy had brought it home for her as an anniversary present and it hung in his studio at home now, thankfully.  There were others that did not, some that had even been sold.  That was something she supposed was inevitable.

 

The rest of the day was, thankfully, uneventful.  Emily and Teddy went to the bank and to visit Teddy’s lawyers.  Everything was in good order and Teddy made arrangements to allocate funds for Perry’s campaign.  Emily even managed to eat lunch, although tea was still out of the question.  When they were in the cab on their way home, the rain began.  Although the temperatures had been balmy in the morning, the mercury was rapidly dropping.  They returned home to find Ilse and Perry snugly entombed in the library, planning their travel strategy and enjoying a warm fire and snacks provided by Abbey, the maid.

The Millers had decided to focus their energy on getting Perry elected as Premier and on making inquiries about Ilse making a radio broadcast.  Ilse would travel the province, as Teddy suggested, and take part in as many activities as she could, getting her name and Perry’s to the voting public.  The effect, they hoped, would be two-fold – benefitting Perry’s bid for office and her own career.  Perry and Teddy talked about budget, and Ilse and Emily talked about wardrobe.

“Do you think she’d make me clothes?” Ilse inquired when she finally found out that it was the infamous Chanel that had created most of Emily’s current wardrobe.  She admired the elegance and simplicity of what her friend wore.  That had never been her style before, but she was open to change.

Emily shrugged, “Sure, I have to write to her anyway, so I’ll ask her to send something for you too.”  Emily was watching the rain pelt down onto the cobblestone driveway.  It was no longer rain, more like a sleet and hail mix.  They were supposed to go out to dinner, but that did not look like a good idea now.  Surely the wonderful Abbey must have something for them to eat here.

Emily was also unbelievably tired.  The day had been a long and emotionally draining one.  Even the thought of all of the travelling that Ilse and Perry were planning was daunting.  She was certainly glad that she didn’t have to do it.  Emily yawned, in spite of herself, “Let me go and see if we can eat here tonight?”

Teddy smiled at her across the room.  He hadn’t heard what she said to Ilse, but he figured it was something to do with staying home tonight.  Emily had been indispensable to him today.  Not only did she help him hear what was being said when he couldn’t, she also knew more up-to-date information about all of the transactions than he did.  She had kept up with things more closely than he thought, bringing ledgers and statements with her to compare to those at the bank.  She was also more involved in the investment process and had some ideas of her own that made his lawyers think twice; a force to be reckoned with, certainly.

Emily made it up the stairs to her room after organizing dinner.  She had a vague idea that she wanted to write something, but had no idea what.  She sat down on the bed and automatically, her head hit the pillow.  She was instantly asleep when it did.  Teddy looked in on her when she did not arrive for dinner, but realized that sleep was probably far more important than food and let her be.

 

 


	27. "Downtown"

_“Downtown people gotta work a little harder, working downtown._

_Downtown they got to think a little quicker 'cause they're downtown._

_Downtown the breaks are harder, Downtown the thieves are smarter.”_

_\- “Downtown” – Jackson Browne_

Emily’s meeting with Grant Howard at the Toronto Star was scheduled for Monday morning.  She was up early and ready to go an hour before she needed to.  Why she was nervous about this was completely beyond her.  Thankfully, her morning sickness was not a regular occurrence and only seemed to bother her when she did not get enough rest.  Thanks to her husband, she could control that.  Teddy let her sleep whenever and for as long as she wanted and needed to.

Finally they arrived at the offices.  There were so many people!  Emily never realized just how many desks could be crammed into one room.  Every one of them had a telephone and a typewriter on it – the most up-to-date technology in the newspaper business.  Although Teddy was with her, he had said nothing so far.  Moral support, he said – that and he really wanted to see how her editor would handle realizing that she was a woman.  She reconciled herself to being a bit of a spectacle for her husband in this case.  He was completely bemused by the whole idea that no one she had been employed by for the past five years really knew who she was.

When the clerk stopped in front of a private, glass-walled office, Emily smiled in thanks and entered at the editor’s welcome.

“Kent!” Grant Howard stood up, “Good to finally meet you!”  He offered his hand.

To Teddy.

Emily pursed her lips and waited for her husband’s reaction.

Teddy stepped forward slightly and shook the man’s hand, “Thank you, you too.  Frederick Kent, and this is my wife Emily.”

Grant Howard nodded to her, “Please, both of you, have a seat.” He indicated the chairs in front of his desk and then turned to Teddy once more.  “Frederick, you said?  Where did the “E” come from then?  You know we have a bit of an office pool going on what your name is?”  He chuckled and looked at Teddy expectantly.

Teddy was enjoying this immensely.  He knew that Emily was bristling beside him and felt a twinge of sympathy for the man in front of them.  He had no idea what he was in for!  He decided to put him out of his misery, “I already told you.  This is my wife, Emily.”

“You used your wife’s initial to write?” Grant Howard was confused.  He’d heard of pseudonyms, lots of people used them, but never using your wife’s name.

Emily made an indiscriminate sound that would have been a snort from anyone except a Murray.  “Oh for heaven’s sake!” she shook her head and sat forward on her chair, “Grant, I’m Emily Kent.  E. Kent.”  She offered her hand, “And it really is a pleasure to meet you.”

The man looked like he had been hit by one of the Prussian long-range bombs.  He sat back in his chair and regarded her hand with disbelief, “You?”  He shook his head, “We sent _you_ to the front?”

Emily nodded, “Yes, you did.  And I want to thank you for it.  That changed my whole perspective on the war.”  She knew that she was barnstorming through this, “I also appreciate that you sent all of those letters my way.”

“Just a minute,” Grant Howard took off his glasses and polished them carefully, trying to sort through this in his mind.  He set the spectacles back on his nose and looked at her, “You are a writer?”

Emily nodded and pulled out her latest novel.  This one actually had her picture on the back, albeit an older one.  “E.B. Starr, at your service.  I chose to use my married name for the articles so that readers could get a new perspective.  If they knew they were reading my work, the fiction and poetry reputation would color it too much, don’t you agree?”  She looked at him carefully.  He was a smart man and a talented one, surely he could see this.

Grant Howard nodded slowly, “Yes, yes, I can see that.  But…” He looked at Teddy, “Who are you then?  I mean, you aren’t a writer?”

“Oh no,” Teddy laughed, “Artist.  Painter to be precise.  I did do a few illustrations for the paper when I was in school, but nothing recently.  The words come from my lovely wife.”  He looked over at Emily and then back at her editor, “I apologize if I had a bit of a laugh at your expense a few minutes ago.  I have been waiting to see what you would do when you met her.”

The editor shook his head, “Well, this is completely unexpected.  You know, my wife Sylvia wondered how you could write the way you did.  She commented very early on that your writing was empathetic and that she didn’t think any man thought that way.  You became a bit of an object of adoration in our house, I am afraid.”  He looked at Emily, “So, you got my letter about the contract, then?”

“I did,” Emily said.  “Is the offer still good?”  She had intended to refuse the contract, but wanted to see what he would say, now that he knew exactly who she was.

“Of course it is!”  Grant Howard looked at her evenly, “I hire writers.  You are a fine reporter and a fine example of how gender doesn’t matter.  The higher-ups may be a bit squeamish about it, but that’s my problem, not yours.  The job is yours, if you want it.”  He desperately hoped that she would take it.  Many of the major papers had females on their staff, and the Star was lagging behind in that regard.  Someone with her reputation, both fiction and non-fiction, would certainly boost their credence in the international journalism community.  It was an unexpected boon that she was a woman, actually.  Her fiction credentials would go far when he presented this to the board.

Emily pulled out the offer from her messenger bag, the same leather satchel that had travelled to the front line with her, “I want to negotiate a few things.”

Teddy watched her, smiling to himself.  She would drive a hard bargain here, if her dealings with the lawyers and bank were any indication.  Emily was more than able to take care of herself professionally.

“Negotiate?” Grant Howard was stunned, “It’s a full-time contract!  I’m offering you a salary, travel benefits… what more could you want?”  This was ridiculous!  There were scores of reporters, some just outside the door, who would give their eye teeth for the piece of paper that she wanted to “negotiate”.

Emily shrugged, “This is not a job that I need, or particularly even want.  I have a family and a farm to take care of, not to mention my fiction contract with the Warehams.  I’m willing to write for you, but I want to do it on my own terms.”  She looked at him squarely, “You sent me to a warzone, Grant.  You did it because you knew I would write what no one else would or could.  If you want me to keep doing that for you, now that the war is over, then we need to negotiate a few things.”  She sat back in her chair and softened her tone, “I appreciate what you did for me.  It was an incredible experience.  Outside of the war itself, it gave me a new way to look at my writing.  It made me think, and you made me pare down my words.  I like working for you.”

The man looked at her, long and hard.  This was not a woman who would accept anything less from others than she demanded of herself.  Her work had been stunning and captivating.  In his opinion, she didn’t ‘write like a woman’, she wrote like a writer, and a damn good one at that.  “What are your terms, Ms. Starr?” he asked.

They spent over an hour hashing out a contract that was acceptable to both of them.  In the end, Emily agreed to write an editorial column that focused on social issues each week.  It would be syndicated, and she would be paid a salary and royalties for syndication.  She would continue to use her initial and married name, but the newspaper was authorized to give out her first name if inquiries were made.  Emily also hired Grant Howard to edit her next fiction manuscript.  Emily knew she had made a friend and an ally in the journalism business.

Before departing, Howard looked at her quizzically, “Do you know a man by the name of Douglas Starr?”  The likelihood that two writers might have that same last name, both be from the Maritimes, and not know one another was slim.  But, he hadn’t heard from his old school friend in years.

“He was my father,” Emily said quietly.  “Did you know him?”  It was rare that anyone ever mentioned her father to her, outside of those in her family.  However, to discover that Grant Howard might have known him was not a surprise, somehow.

“Certainly did,” he nodded.  “He was the editor of the paper in Charlottetown when I worked there.  A bit of hero-worship on my part, I am afraid.  Brilliant writer though, even then.  He went on to work freelance for the Gazette, didn’t he?”  He hadn’t read anything Douglas had written in years, but his style had been unforgettable.

Emily nodded, “Yes, we lived on the Island all of my life, but Father did freelance.  He passed away almost twenty-five years ago.”

Grant shook his head, “Damn shame.  Man was a genius and could turn a phrase like no one I’ve read since – perhaps maybe you,” he looked up at her and smiled.  “I have all the old papers in my attic at home.  If you’re interested I would be happy to send them to you?”

Emily nodded immediately.  She had never read much of her father’s work.  The odd snippet would resurface from time to time and she had a couple of letters that he had written to her mother and to her aunts, but that was all.  “Absolutely!  I would love that.”

“Not a problem at all, I’ll send them out as soon as I can gather them together.  The paper can pay for that – they are used to sending you tons of mail – literally,” he smiled at her again.  Now that he knew she was Douglas’ daughter, a lot more things made sense.  Her father had been a brilliant reporter and would have gone far, had he not buried himself in the wilderness of Prince Edward Island.  “Your mother…” he searched his memory for her name, “Julie, was it?”  He remembered her vaguely, she had been in his year at school.  An incredible beauty – tall and possessed of a curious sense of composure for one so young.  Her daughter had inherited that too.

Emily was surprised that he would remember this, “Juliet, actually, but that is very close.  It was a long time ago.”  She smiled at him companionably.

“Sylvia will be thrilled.  They were roommates at school.  Does she still live on the Island?” his wife had mentioned Douglas’ wife several times over the years.  They had been inseparable at first, but when Starr had swept her off her feet they had grown apart.  Then they had lost touch altogether when he and Sylvia moved, first to Montreal and then to Toronto.

Emily shook her head slightly, “Mother passed away when I was four.  I barely remember her, but it would be delightful to meet your wife.”  Emily felt a curious sense of weariness in this conversation.  Although she was thrilled to finally meet someone who knew her parents as people, as a couple for that matter, there was an element of the past here that was not of her world.  Her parents were cherished memories to her, and to learn more about them would be both soothing and interesting.  But yet, that world was gone now.  

Emily remembered, vividly, opening her copy of Shakespeare to the sonnets one evening while Teddy had been away.  At her favorite, a pressed flower had fallen into her lap.  The lily was from her wedding bouquet – she had put it there, she remembered, associating the beauty of the day with the words of the sonnet.  In 116, the Bard spoke of love as she felt it: “O no! it is an ever-fixed mark/That looks on tempests and is never shaken;/It is the star to every wandering bark,/Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.”  When she held it to her face to smell it, to inhale the glory that she had felt on that day of days, it was not there and was instead replaced by a lingering, musty odor that was not the sunshine or the love that had been in her husband’s eyes.  Emily had thrown the flower out, preferring her perfect memories to a faded reality.  She felt this way about her parents too.  She didn’t want to mourn them again, that had been too much of her childhood.  She did not want to see their lives as bittersweet, but instead allow them to live and breathe in immortality, where they really belonged.

Emily and Teddy left the office, with contract and dinner invitations in hand and Teddy took a deep breath, “So that’s done now.  Where does that leave us?  Shall we linger here or return to our wee castle and lass, hmm?”  His arm was around her shoulders as they walked up Yonge Street.  He loved town, as a rule, but knew that Emily preferred her peace, quiet, and home.  She was also getting tired, he could sense that.

Emily watched as the motor cars, horses and buggies, and new electric rail cars battled for purchase on the narrow street.  The present, the past, and the future – all were there to see, in a race for time and space, for precedence or archival.  Emily knew who the victor was, as surely as she knew that the world they were in was not viable.  “Teddy, do you think the war is really over, forever?”  They had stopped at a bench near a small park and sat down together.  She looked at her husband in question.

“I sure as hell hope so!” he shook his head.  “What on earth would make you say something like that?”  There was something odd in her tone and her sudden withdrawal from his arm.

“It isn’t, you know,” Emily looked away.  “It isn’t over.  I know that.”  She watched as a man in a motor car honked his horn in annoyance at an elderly lady in a once fashionable cart.  There it was.  “Today is so important to us.  We ignore tomorrow, because it just has to be perfect, after the horror of war.  We slight yesterday because it created all of the things that we detest about ourselves.  Teddy, be careful that you don’t embrace this new era of progress too completely.  It won’t last.”  She looked at him again and was surprised to see his shocked expression.

He shook his head, “I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds suspiciously like Nostradamus.”  He took her left hand in his and pulled off the kid leather glove that protected it from the unpredictable weather.  He ran his thumb over her ring, “What does this mean to you?”

Emily covered their hands with her gloved right hand, “I’m not talking about us, I’m talking about our world.”  She ran her finger over his ring, “This is forever.  You don’t find the end of the rainbow and ever leave, not really.”  She shut her eyes and held her face to the sun, “We have to live what we have now, but I think we need to be careful just how we do that.  We being the world,” she qualified.

“And I think you have your first article,” Teddy said softly.  He was not a fortune-teller, but the maniacal happiness that was so obvious in everything that surrounded them was not sustainable - he had thought as much himself.  Making hay while the sun shone was fine, but he was not going to bet the farm on the weather either.  “I agree with you.  Let’s walk and talk, if you’re up to it?”

Emily nodded in agreement.  Although she was getting tired, sitting here was a bit chilly.  She happily settled under his arm again and they continued their journey up the street.  Yonge Street was the longest street in the world, or so she had heard.  Apparently, if you kept driving, you ended up circumnavigating all of the Great Lakes.  Emily thought that this might be a fine way to spend a summer, and said so to Teddy.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Teddy smiled down at his wife, and at the thought of having her all to himself for months at a time once more.  He didn’t count Robin as an interruption, certainly.  The two of them together would be excellent travelling companions.  The only reason she was not along on this trip was that both he and Emily had wanted to sort things out with Perry and Ilse.  Bringing the children along was not conducive to that, and Aunt Laura missed her house-full desperately.  “Back to what you were saying about the world, I want you to know that I did make some changes to our investment portfolio.  The only reliable commodity is land; that’s where I want to focus our assets.”

Emily waved her hand at him in dismissal, “Please leave me out of that!  I want nothing to do with the lawyers and the bank anymore.  I am a poor substitute for you, at best.  I’ll have the babies, you manage the money,” she set her chin resolutely.  “Or perhaps we could switch…”

Teddy laughed at her consideration of the impossible, “Alright, but I will never leave you completely out of it.  I don’t think that’s fair.  It would leave you in an untenable position if something happened to me.”  He steered her automatically to avoid a puddle of slush on the sidewalk.

Emily nodded in acceptance, but did not reply.  Not having Teddy around was not a situation that she could deal with, and it never would be.  While he had been away at the front, she had been forced to deal with the possibility and didn’t like it.  Especially now, she did not even want to consider it.  Having their children grow up without a father was not an option.  Both she and Teddy had been in that position, and it was not something she wanted for their family.  “Please don’t say that,” was her only reply.  She dropped her head and watched their feet move, in unison along the cobblestones.  That was what she wanted, for the rest of their lives.

He hugged her closer, “I’m not going anywhere, relax.”  They continued their walk up the street, passing shops and houses, parks and schools.  Teddy felt his wife’s pace slow slightly and adjusted his to match.  She hadn’t been this tired when she was pregnant with Robin.  That was a bit worrisome to him.  Oh, there were reasons for it, certainly.  She was older than she had been – almost too old, many would think, they had travelled so much in the months prior, she had worked like a dog on her latest book when they returned home; all perfectly good reasons for her body to force her to slow down now and look after their child-to-be.  She also referred to this child as a son, always.  She had known Robin was a girl, so he supposed that this was just part and parcel of her ‘gift’.  Maybe boys made their mothers tired.  “Do you want to get a cab home?” he asked quietly.

“Want, no,” Emily sighed, and stopped.  “Need to, yes.  I have no idea why I am so exhausted all of the time.”  She didn’t want to say anything to him, but she was a bit concerned about this.  She had worked all through her pregnancy with Robin, keeping long hours and a strict schedule of writing so that she could focus on their child when she arrived.  She had fully intended to do the same thing this time, but was glad that she only needed to turn in one article a week to the Star.  She could barely keep her eyes open through dinner these days, let alone to sit up and write afterward.

“It’s settled then, we’ll head home the day after tomorrow,” Teddy said, as he hailed a passing cab for them.  “I want you home, safely, and resting as much as you can.  I don’t want you to take any chances.”

His voice was the one that brooked no argument.  Teddy was not often proprietarily male with her, but when he was, she knew it was something important.  In this case, she could not agree more.  She wanted her snug little home and their cozy fireplace.  She wanted to see the spring come to her own garden and watch the irises bloom out of her kitchen window.  She loved roses but these, _rugosa_ though they might be, were too contrived, somehow.  She wanted the tumbling New Moon roses that covered the fence gate that opened to the path that led to their home.  She wanted to hear the children laughing as they tumbled from one house to another, in search of adventure and inspiration, just as she, Ilse, Perry, and Teddy had done so many years ago.  Emily yawned and settled under his arm in the cab.  Her last waking thoughts were that she would call their son James.

 

 


	28. "Let the Children Play"

_“My sister would show me_   
_To land on your feet_   
_You got to suffer fools_   
_Before you get, life and need._

_So God would you tell me_   
_Is there another way?_

_Let the children play.”_

_\- “Let the Children Play” – Europe_

                Allan Burnley looked at her sternly, “What have you been doing to yourself?”  He washed his hands and then sat down in the chair across from her, waiting for her answer.

                Dr. Burnley still had his offices in the old Burnley house, even though he lived at New Moon.  Ilse and Perry used this house as a home when they came to visit.  The office she was in was the same one she had visited countless times as a child.  The clean antiseptic smell was oddly comforting.  “Nothing,” Emily replied.  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she looked up at him in question, “Is there something wrong?”

                “Damn right there is!”  Allan Burnley shook his head abruptly and hollered toward the door, “Nurse Bell, get Kent in here now!”

                “Dr. Burnley, please!”  Emily moaned in frustration, “Please don’t worry him over nothing?”  Teddy was the one who had demanded that she see the doctor.  Seven months along and she was more than just tired.  She slept fourteen or fifteen hours a day, and still woke up exhausted.  She ate as much as she could, and kept it down for the most part, but she ached all over and could never seem to get enough energy to do anything.

                Teddy stepped in behind the nurse, a crease across his forehead, “What is it?” he asked nervously.

                Emily had not really noticed that her husband looked almost as haggard as she did.  Emily-in-the-glass had not been her ally over the past few months, but her husband looked as if he had spent more than his share of nights without sleep as well.  She made up her mind to take better care of him.

                “What has she been doing?” the doctor demanded.  “She’s worn out!  Have you been letting her stay up all night to work again?”

                “No sir!” Teddy said quickly, “Anything but that!  She sleeps all of the time, barely even stays awake long enough to eat.  I’m worried sick!” He looked at the doctor desperately.

                “Hmm…” Allan Burnley looked over his spectacles at both of them.  “Hmm…”

                “Excuse me, Granddad?” Everyone had forgotten Benjamin Miller.  He was sitting in the corner in the examining room.  That was his usual perch whenever he was home, following his grandfather as he made his rounds and saw patients.  He helped the doctor carry things and got instruments organized, but he rarely said a word.  At nearly eleven, he was completely dedicated to medicine.  There had been no other career that had even interested him; from the time he knew what his grandfather did for a living that was what he wanted too.

                “Hush, Ben,” Dr. Burnley said, “I’m thinking.”

                “Granddad, I have an idea,” he said thoughtfully, looking up at the adults.  He gulped nervously as he waited for them to respond.  He knew he was being impertinent and that Aunt Emily would admonish him for that; she was such a stickler for manners sometimes.  But he also thought he knew what was wrong.

                Dr. Burnley looked over at him, “Go ahead, then.”  Allan knew he spoiled this child.  He freely admitted it, in fact.  He adored all of his grand-cherubs, as he had dubbed the girls, but unwillingly had to concede that they were never going to amount to much more than beautiful wives.  None of them had a pinch of ambition, unlike their parents.  Ben was different.

                Benjamin got off his chair and went to the desk.  He found the issue immediately.  He read everything that his grandfather had in his library and always snatched up the journals first.  This one was published in England, where a young medical student, Lucy Wills, was interested in hematology.  He opened the issue to the page and held it up, “Prenatal pernicious anemia.”  He offered the journal to his grandfather.

                Teddy looked at his wife in confusion, “What did he say?”  He knew what two of the words meant on their own, but had no idea what the boy was talking about.  However, it did not sound good.

                Allan Burnley looked over the article cursorily, but knew that his grandson was correct.  He nodded, “By Jove, Laddie!”  He rumpled the boy’s hair affectionately.  “Excellent.  Treatment?” He looked at his grandson critically.

                Ben nodded, “Minot and Murphy are piloting a study based on diet.”  He turned toward his aunt and uncle, “You need to eat liver, Aunt Emily, lots of it,” he said succinctly.

                Teddy looked perplexed, “Dr. Burnley, what does liver have to do with the fact that Emily is tired?  She’s sick any time she eats something like that anyway.”  Although he loved Perry and Ilse’s boy, he was not about to let him start treating their family.  He was ten!

                Dr. Burnley nodded, “Anemia is a high hemoglobin count and a low red blood cell count.  We could do tests, but Benjamin’s diagnosis and treatment are correct.  Emily has been sick a lot, and has lost a lot of fluids.  That, combined with losing the nutrients has lowered her red blood count considerably – it’s obvious from her complexion.  Eating liver, or dark greens will help to replenish that.”  He turned to his grandson, “Make sure you tell your patients why.  No one should be given a treatment option that they don’t understand, is that clear?”

                “Yes Granddad,” Benjamin nodded, and returned to his chair to listen to the rest of the conversation, his amber eyes beaming with pride.

                “I’ll try anything,” Emily said wearily.  “And you like liver, Teddy.  We can get some for dinner.”

                Dr. Burnley smiled, “Good!  I want to see you in five days, and I want you to eat more meat and dark green vegetables every day until then.  If there is no improvement, we will run some tests, understood?”  He was proud of his grandson, immeasurably.  He made up for the dippy-ness of his sisters in spades.  Those wee cherubs wouldn’t know a book until it fell on them!  But pretty!  Laws – they were pretty!  Beatrice to the core, all of them, with a dash of Miller’s panache.  Lovely little lasses, but only to cuddle and spoil.  Benjamin had a future in medicine, and he was going to make damn sure he was ready for medical school when the time came.

                Emily ate her liver, and her spinach, and her steak and kale.  Emily felt like a new woman in three day’s time.  She was ensconced on the couch in the living room, listening to Robin play the piano and had not fallen asleep in over three hours.  Victory!  She stroked her stomach gently and felt her son move against her hand.  She smiled to herself happily, now she could enjoy this!

                Teddy had demanded that she rest, so Aunt Laura did most of the cooking for them, bringing up dishes for both the noonday meal and dinner each morning.  Emily wasn’t an invalid, but he did not want her standing on her feet in the kitchen cooking for hours.  He had also hired a housekeeper for them, so that Emily did not have to be up and about dusting and scrubbing when she should be looking after herself.  Polly Wiggins was a young girl from the bay who came up three times a week to keep their Cashlin spotless.  They had finally come up with a name for their house, having struggled over it for years.  It was not the Disappointed House – definitely not.  It was awkward to call it something like the Happy House, or Undisappointed House.  Emily had looked in books and asked everyone she knew for ideas, but nothing really fit until Polly had said something offhand, “I’ll be back to dust the cashlin later tomorrow, then?”  Cashlin: little castle in Irish.  The name stuck, and Teddy had proudly painted a small, lettered sign for the gatepost.

                Emily had pen and paper close at hand at all times, now that she was feeling better.  All of the ideas that had half-formed themselves while she had been too tired to deal with them came pouring out now.  She would sit for hours, listening to her daughter practice, and write.  Teddy was more relieved than he let on to anyone, save Dr. Burnley.  He had also set up an account at the bank for Benjamin Miller.  The boy would be a doctor, already was, really, and should have the finest education money could buy.  To thank him for helping Emily, Teddy made sure that this would never be an issue.  He watched his wife and daughter from the doorway of their living room, in silence.  He had brought his mother’s piano to the house and they had made room for it in the living room.  Although the house had been almost furnished by Dean and Emily, they had made significant changes since moving in.  The pictures in this room were different, for one.  No Mona Lisa, no Elizabeth Bas.  Teddy had wanted pictures of his family, but Emily refused.  Her guests wouldn’t know who was talking to them if she was looking down at them from all four walls, she had argued.  He had acquiesced, so instead there was a da Vinci sketch in charcoal, a Monet in muted shades of purple and grey that he’d picked up in Paris while he was there for school, and a Tom Thomson painting of birch trees over the fireplace, _April in Algonquin Park_.  The last had been Emily’s choice, purchased by her while he was away, and he had agreed once he saw it.  Hanging up the competition (living or not) wasn’t normally his style, but there was something about the texture that gave this particular painting a life inextricably connected to their Cashlin.  The stately birch trunks echoed the ones outside their window and lit up the dark stone of the fireplace with their grey-silver glamor.  Teddy had met Thomson a time or two, his work space in the Studio Building was not far from Teddy’s own home in Rosedale.

                He looked at his daughter as her hands methodically danced up and down the keys in patterns that he couldn’t hear and did not understand.  It was his secret, his and Emily’s.  He couldn’t hear his daughter play.  Part of the injury had taken away his ability to determine volume and direction of sound.  He also could not identify pitch – which notes were high and which were low.  Everything she played just sounded like a wall of ambient noise.  He could watch her, though, and knew that whatever sounds she was conjuring from the instrument filled a void in her soul that painting filled for him.  He would never tell her that he heard none of it, only that he supported her in anything that her little lovely heart desired.  Her mother was on the couch, her feet covered by a blanket to ward off the August evening chill.  Emily had her pen in hand and was scribbling furiously to get the thought onto the page.  As she did, her left hand traced tiny lines on her full stomach, her long fingers elegant and eloquent in their motion.  Her rings still fit her, thankfully, for she had not wanted to take them off as she had needed to for Robin.  As soon as their child was born he’d buy her another with the new birthstone in it.  She looked up and smiled at him lazily, beckoning him to come in and join her.  He did just that and was content to sit beside her on the floor when she went back to her writing, his right hand linked to her left and feeling their child move.  He had never been so happy in his entire life.  This was the end of the rainbow.

 

                 James David Douglas Kent was born in late September of 1919.  Robin, erstwhile in her role as big sister, immediately nicknamed him ‘Jed’ – far too many names for a wee tot, were her words.  Both Emily and Teddy were content with the short form, and it stuck.  He was a wee tot, for all that.  Emily looked at him and wondered how something so tiny and fragile could exist.  One late night, with her son at her breast and her pen in hand she attempted to describe him.

_“Writing of our children seems so much more than a fairy tale.  Is it parental prejudice that makes me believe them more beautiful than all of the other children in the world?  Of course they will be happy, of course they will be successful, simply because they are ours?  I don’t know.  For all that, Jed is a marvel.  There is so much of Teddy in him.  Although his eyes are mine, his face is not.  He manages the same crease in his forehead as his father does when he is concerned.  It seems odd that an infant might be concerned, but I do believe that Jed is.  To say that he is an old soul would be trite.  To say that he has experienced much and seen the other side of the veil would be more accurate.  Ah such a quartet we shall be!  Artists to the man - and woman.  And what will my wee man find as his passion?  Right now it is food and his sister’s laugh.  Oh that it should always be so!  He will know love, but I feel he may know pain also.  It is inevitable, I suppose.  We all will.”_

                Teddy was over the moon with joy.  Although he had secretly hoped for a son, to have one delivered to him so neatly was like a dream come true.  It was true, Emily was very tidy about having children.  His worries and concerns had been for naught.  Once her health was under control, she followed the same pattern she had with Robin – short labor, easy recovery, and a delightful child as a result.  He had sketched his son so many times.  The lines were all new, all fascinating to discover.  The colors were softer, muted pastels, where Robin had been always vivid and arresting.  The two were like night and day, but complemented each other in the same way.  He liked to think that Jed looked like him, but the eyes were pure Emily.  Of that he was glad.  He always found it difficult to go inside Robin’s eyes when he drew her, and they matched his own exactly.  They were lucky, he and his love.

                Three weeks before Christmas, Teddy finally had to make a trip to New York City.  He had put it off for the entire time he’d been home, but now it was unavoidable.  Some things just had to be dealt with.  Given the domestic bliss that encompassed his family, he was loath to leave, but oddly comforted by the fact that all would be the same when he returned.  The prospect of doing a little extra, extravagant shopping for them was also in his head.  He had missed all of Robin’s Christmases, this was Jed’s first, and Emily – well, spoiling his wife was his right and joy.  He left with an easy heart, already thinking about returning to them.

 

 


	29. "Kindertotenlieder"

          Emily was in her kitchen, putting away the cookie pans.  Normally she didn’t bake; that was Aunt Laura’s arena and she was good at it.  Even Aunt Elizabeth had ceded the reins to her sister when it came to Christmas baking.  Aunt Laura made it seem effortless – pastry as light as air, butter cookies that melted in your mouth, and fruitcake that made you want to eat the cake, not just the fruit and marzipan.  She could not, however, successfully make a recipe known in the family as simply “Juliet’s Cookies” - shortbread, lighter and thinner than any others.  Ten years ago, Emily had stumbled upon the recipe in one of Aunt Laura’s books.  The card was in her mother’s elegant and beautiful hand.  Juliet Murray had trained to be a teacher and would have taught penmanship wonderfully as hers was like ballet on a page.  Emily had made the recipe and immediately been elected its soul proprietor.

          “Like mother, like daughter,” Aunt Elizabeth had said, for once with pride, rather than any touch of malice toward her long-deceased sister.  She had then helped herself to another cookie.

          Cousin Jimmy had declared that, “The angels must have been eating these all these years.  Nice to have a bit of heaven on earth!”  He had then proceeded to eat an entire batch on his own.

          Since then, it was Emily’s contribution to the Murray Christmas larder.  She usually ended up making twenty or thirty batches each year, but didn’t mind.  It was a little bit of tradition that kept her grounded in a hectic season.  Today had been a good day to bake them.  One of her mother’s odd little notes on the card had simply said, “Bake in the rain.”  Damp weather seemed to help rather than hinder these particular delights.  It was definitely a damp day – cold and sleeting intermittently.

          “Bandy!  Quit it, I’m busy!” Robin shrieked from the living room.

          Bandy was another of Robin’s nicknames, this time for Benjamin Miller.  No one else dared call him that, but for Robin to do so was almost an endearment to the young man.  And he was a young man, eleven now to Robin’s nearly six years.  But Robin was his constant companion.  He adored her, and not just because she was his friend-cousin, as Ilse deemed their relationship, but because he knew that this was the woman he wanted to marry.  Emily, Teddy, Ilse, and Perry had all thought of their children marrying, but none had ever said anything outright.  Ben Miller obviously thought it was the right thing to do.

          Emily knew that Robin’s temper was almost unmanageable when she was interrupted at her work.  Both she and Teddy had been on the receiving end of it on more than one occasion.  Had it happened in any other context, the Murray in Emily would have quashed it with a sledgehammer of deportment.  However, in this case, the artist in her understood.  She stood up quickly to go and rescue her nephew from her daughter’s wrath.  The room spun queerly on its axis and Emily grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady herself.  It continued to sway for a moment more and then came into focus slowly.  What the devil was this about?  She took a glass and filled it with water and then drank it down.  Perhaps she had just stood up too quickly – that had been happening a bit lately, but usually just after she fed the baby.  She moved gingerly toward the living room to look in on her charges for the afternoon.  Jed was upstairs sleeping, but Robin and Ben had been keeping each other occupied in the living room on this rather gloomy day.  Ilse and Perry were campaigning in Charlottetown and the girls were at New Moon being spoiled to death by their granddad and Aunt Laura.  Emily fanned her face when she entered the room, it was stifling in here! 

          “Robin, what is the matter?” she looked at her daughter critically.

          Robin was sitting on the couch, trying to look at a new music score that her father had picked up for her before he left – Mahler, the title said.  Ben was looking at a book and bandaging Robin’s head to simulate a pressure dressing.  This was obviously not conducive to her activity.  “Ban is being a pain, mum!  I do not have a gushing head tram!”

          “Trauma,” Ben interjected, “It’s trauma, not tram, Bob.”  He looked up at his Aunt, hoping for her sympathy.  What he saw was something else.  He dropped his bandages and came over to her quickly, “Aunt Emily?  Are you alright?”  He caught her arm as she swayed slightly on her feet.

          “I…I don’t know…” Emily found her way to a chair with Ben’s help.  “It’s so hot in here!”  She blinked to try to clear her vision, but it only made her dizzier this time.

          Ben took over instantly, “Bob, phone down and get granddad, right away!  Then bring me some water and a cloth, quickly!”  He felt his Aunt’s forehead and knew instantly.  Influenza.  There had been dozens of cases in Blair Water over the past few months.  It had raged like an epidemic in North America since the war ended, but the Island had not been hard hit, just the odd one here and there.  Cousin Jimmy had a bout with it over the summer, in fact, but he was fit as a fiddle now.  His granddad had treated them all and he had watched.  He could certainly make do until he arrived.

          Robin ran back into the living room, the first part of her errand completed.  “He’s on his way.”  Robin might argue with Bandy at every possible opportunity, but there was no brooking his authority on all things medical.  When he asked for something, she did it, no questions asked.  “It’ll take the water a while to boil, thank heavens Mum had the stove on for the cookies!  Mum, are you alright?”  Robin took her mother’s hand gently.

          “Fine, love.  Just fine.  Can you ask your father to turn down the radio in his studio, please?  It’s making my head ache – all that dance music,” she laughed slightly and then shut her eyes again.

          Robin’s eyes widened.  Her father had been gone for a week.  “Bandy?” she whispered, “Has Mum lost her mind?”  Aunt Ruth Dutton said that her mother was “weak minded”, but Robin had never known what this meant.  Maybe that was what was wrong with her mum.

          He shook his head, “No, no…” he felt her forehead again.  “It’s the fever, she’s delirious.  You can boil some water, if you like, but I need cold water right now.  I have to get her fever down.”  Ben looked at Robin, “Can you go and get your brother, please, after you get the water?  He’s crying up a storm up there!”

          Robin nodded and set about her duties quickly and efficiently.  The water was delivered, the pot watched, and Jed retrieved and settled.  When Dr. Burnley arrived, all would be well.

          It wasn’t.

 

* * *

          Ilse’s eyes shut, overflowing with tears, when she saw her father pull up the sheet.  “Oh God,” she whispered.

          Allan Burnley was stricken too.  Losing a patient was never easy.  Losing a child was worse.

          Jed Kent had come down with the influenza only hours after his mother.  A raging fever held him in its clutches for two days.  He never recovered.  There was nothing that the doctor could do.  The baby was tiny, fragile, and without his mother to feed him was at a loss.  They had brought in a wet nurse, given him water, and tried everything under the sun to get his fever down.  Nothing worked.  The child Emily and Teddy adored and had prayed for was gone, and neither of them knew it.

          Emily was ill.  Gravely.  Her fever was as high as her son’s had been and was still racking her body with its relentless torture.  She was freezing cold and burning hot by turns, delirious through most of it.  Her lungs were not totally clear either, and that worried him.  He sighed and looked at his daughter, who had rushed from Charlottetown when Aunt Laura called.  She had come first to collect Ben, so that he would not be a burden or get sick himself, but had stayed when she realized what dire straits they were in.

          “Ilse, find Teddy,” he left the room quietly.

          Ben stood up when his grandfather came in, “Granddad, I think it’s breaking.  She started to perspire and her temperature seems cooler.  I couldn’t get any fluid into her though.  How’s Jed?” He looked at his grandfather in question.  Something inside him knew that of the two, his grandfather must be worried about the baby the most.  Otherwise, he would not have left him in charge of Aunt Emily for the last two hours.  Not that he minded; it was what he wanted to do.  He wanted to help, he wanted to heal.  “Granddad, how’s Jed?” he asked again.

          Allan Burnley shut his eyes briefly.  His grandson had been a godsend over the past forty-eight hours.  He couldn’t have done this alone.  Now he had to teach him the hardest lesson a physician ever had to learn: no one can play God.  He opened his eyes and looked at Emily critically.  She was not that much improved, but she was perspiring, as Ben said.  He needed to tell his grandson.  “Sit down, laddie,” he said quietly.  He began with the clinical explanation: dehydration, unsustainable core temperature.  His grandson understood all of that.

          “But granddad, you can make him better, can’t you?” Ben was suddenly the eleven year old boy, not the aspiring doctor.  His granddad always made people better.

          That was Allan Burnley’s undoing.  He let his head fall into his hands and sobbed.

          Ben knew, then.  He knew what had happened.  He knew that Robin’s little brother had gone to be with God.  He quickly said a prayer for him and asked that the boy’s grandparents and Aunt Elizabeth Murray be sure to take very good care of him.  Then he looked at his grandfather, “Granddad?”

          Allan looked up at the young boy, not ashamed of his tears, but exhausted by them and what had just happened.  “What laddie?”

          “You rest,” he said quietly.  “Go on into the spare room and lie down.  I’ll call you if there is any change and keep trying with the fluids.  Someone should call Uncle Teddy, I guess?”  He could handle caring for his Aunt, but he was not sure how adults would deal with talking about all of this.

          “Your mother is,” Allan whispered.  He looked at his grandson with respect in his eyes, and more than a little bit of shame.  He wanted to seem like the perfect doctor to Ben.  In his heart, he knew he wasn’t.  He wasn’t a skilled surgeon with new techniques, he wasn’t in residence at a big hospital on the mainland making breakthroughs in disease control, and he had never been more than the town doctor.  He delivered babies, sewed up cuts from farming accidents and reset the odd broken bone.  He dispensed medication for rheumatism and shingles, and helped the soldiers deal with injuries when they finally returned home.  He was nothing special really, he just wanted his grandson to believe that he was.  The way Ben had handled this was unbelievably adult and professional.

          Ben looked at him and then hugged him hard, “Granddad, you go and cry now.  Aunt Emily needs at least one of us.  I can cry later, when you’ve had some rest.”  He removed himself from the embrace as valiantly as he could and rubbed at his eyes.

          Allan Burnley knew that while he was nothing special to the medical community, Ben Miller would be.

 

* * *

          Teddy Kent jumped off the train before it came to a full stop and rushed toward Perry’s waiting car.  “How is she?” he demanded.  Aunt Laura had telephoned his hotel the moment her husband left to go up to Cashlin to look after Emily.  He left immediately, grabbing the first train that left the New York station.  He hadn’t slept a wink since then.  Luckily, he had been able to call Perry’s office from the station in Halifax and his assistant had promised that he would be at Blair Water station to drive him home.

          Perry took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  When he received Teddy’s message, he knew that his friend had no idea what he was coming home to.  Rushing back for a sick wife was enough to worry a man.  Rushing back to bury your son was something else entirely, especially when you had no idea he was even sick.  He knew that Teddy was waiting for his reply.  “Ted, it’s worse than that.  Let’s drive while we talk though, you need to get home.”

          Teddy stared at the tiny white form.  His hands shook.  He wanted to touch his son, so much.  He wanted to cradle his tiny head in his hand and know that what they had told him was not real.  He wanted to draw him too, just as his eyes opened drowsily like his mother’s, and proved them all wrong.  He let his fingertips brush his son’s cheek.  Cold.  Oh God, he was cold!  Why was he so cold?  They had said a fever was what took him.  How could a fever leave him so cold?  Emily would never stand for this!  As soon as she got well she would take them all to task for this.  Someone had made a grievous mistake here.  Their son was not dead, he couldn’t be!

 

           Ilse touched his shoulder gently, “Teddy, what can I do?” she asked softly.

           He whirled around, his eyes blackened navy and shadowed with anger and grief, “Get out!” he said in a hissed whisper.  All of a sudden the urge to lash out was uncontrollable.  He knew it was not Ilse’s fault, knew she had nothing to do with it, really.  But he couldn’t bear to have her here.  This was not hers, she knew nothing about this.

           She nodded and left, without question.  She had never seen that look before, and she had seen a lot of looks from Teddy.  This Teddy was destroyed, absolutely and completely.  “Oh Emily, please wake up?” she whispered as she passed the room where her best friend lay, still seriously ill.  All of the jealousy and mild resentment she had felt over the past year was gone now, but left shame and embarrassment in its wake.  Ilse had wanted to be like Emily and Teddy, with their perfect family and perfect love.  Now she was just thanking God that He had spared all of her babies from this.  She would live and die a happy woman with her husband and children around her, no matter what happened.

           Teddy left his son’s room several hours later in a stony silence.  He came down the stairs and organized everything.  He called the undertaker in town and had a casket delivered within the hour, and he arranged for the minister to come over and bless his son.  There would be no funeral, no service for anyone to attend.  Emily was too ill to make that possible, and all of this had to be done before he could be with her.  He had to make this as easy on her as he could.  In a way, that was the only easy thing about this.  His son could be buried in the Murray graveyard with his ancestors.  Teddy did all of it on autopilot.  He and Perry carried the tiny casket down in the evening dusk to the grave Cousin Jimmy had dug without being asked, and it was done, all before Teddy had been home for more than twenty-four hours.

           It was almost as if his son had never existed.  It was that thought that brought Teddy back to earth with a crashing blow of reality.  No one had said much to him, save Perry, who had explained it all as best he could.  He turned to his Aunt Katie when he came back in his own front door, feeling curiously like an uninvited guest in his own home, “Where’s Robin?” he whispered.  He needed his daughter now, needed her desperately.

           “She’s in Shrewsbury with Aunt Ruth,” Kate held up her hand.  “I know.  I know what you are going to say!  But Allan thought it best.  It’s so contagious that he didn’t want her around here.  I’m sure it…”

           “I’ll be back,” Teddy said resolutely and left the house quickly, car keys in hand.  His daughter needed to be here, where he could make sure she was safe.

           Retrieving a child from almost-slumber is one thing.  Doing it under Ruth Dutton’s roof was another.  Teddy was reminded vividly of a verbal description Emily had given of her aunt once, long ago: vindictive and spiteful porcupine.  She was that and more.

           “You’ll lose more than one child tonight if you do this, Teddy Kent!” were her ominous words as he carried his daughter, wrapped in her blankets to the running automobile.

           Teddy didn’t answer her.  Teddy didn’t care.  He snuggled his daughter beside him and drove home.  At least Robin was warm, when everything else in his world was cold now.  She was well and warm, and had kissed his cheek happily when he came to get her.

           “You’re scratchy, Daddy,” she said, smiling at him and running her finger over his unshaven cheek.  He just held her tighter.  He was not going to lose her too.

           He settled her in her own bed and shut the door carefully.  Standing in the hallway of his own home, he again felt like this was all a dream, like someone had taken the canvas of his perfect life and torn it to shreds, replacing the pieces in an order that just did not make sense – an abstract ugliness what was not a painting of their life at all.  Someone, or rather something, had.  He looked at the closed door to their bedroom for a long time, before taking a deep breath and opening it, dreading what he might find.

           “Father!  Tell him it is all a mistake!” Emily demanded of him, sitting upright in their bed, her eyes flashing with fever.

           Teddy looked at Ilse and the doctor in confusion, “What…”

           Dr. Burnley shook his head, “She’s delirious.  She’s been going on about her father for hours - something about a salesman and a book.  I have no idea,” he shook his head and turned back to Emily, trying to settle her back down.

           Emily was resolute, “No!  I want Father to tell you that I didn’t have to kill it!”  Again she turned to Teddy, “Tell him, please?  Father, please tell him?”

           “Of course you didn’t, Elfkin,” he said gently.  He knew that was what her father had called her.  He had heard her call Robin the same name many times and finally asked about it.  It would sooth her, he hoped.  He had no idea what Douglas Starr might have said to his daughter.

           Emily’s chin rose an inch, her Murray pride in full force, “See Dean?  My father thinks my work is good and he is a better writer than you could ever hope to be!”  Her tone was lethal, and then she relaxed.  Her body went limp in Ilse and Dr. Burnley’s arms and they lay her back on the pillows gently.

           Ilse saw the stricken look on Teddy’s face and took a deep breath, “Teddy she doesn’t know what she’s saying.  She has a fever, you can’t…”  She knew, or thought she knew, that the mention of Dean’s name would set him off.  Of all of the names for Emily to say in her fever!

           Teddy brushed past her and sat down at Emily’s side.  Someone had taken her rings off and put them on the bedside table.  He took her left hand in his and slipped them back on.  Her wedding ring and the anniversary ring that he had sent her from Paris.  From his pocket he took another, this time sapphires, his own birthstone and his son’s.  He slid it on her finger next to the other two and kissed her hand gently.  He knew what she was saying.  He knew exactly what she was saying.  He also knew that somewhere, deep down inside her, in that unreachable part of her mind that spoke to him when he needed her most, she knew that their son was gone.  The only possible comparison she could have to this loss was the loss of her book.

           She had told him the tale one night.  He had never asked her to, but had wondered to what she had been referring when she spoke of destroying her work that day in his studio.  She told him about their book, his _Seller of Dreams_.  He remembered saying the phrase to her, oddly enough, that night by the fire in the Old John House.  He remembered it well.  That was the night he had known that she was his – indisputably.  He had looked at her and known that the bewitching girl across the room would sit beside him in a fire-warmed room for the rest of his life – or at least he had hoped she would.  The dreams they would share would be perfect.

           She had told him how Dean had destroyed her belief in herself and her work.  She told him how it was they had come to be engaged.  It was a hurtful, spiteful tale that she did not enjoy telling, but that shed a lot of light on her relationship with Dean Priest.  To her, Dean represented that pain, that hurt, and that possessiveness in the name of love.  Teddy had been jealous of the man once, but now he never could be.  He would never like him, and would do anything he could to keep Emily away from him, but jealousy would never enter into it.  Dean had lost Emily when he made her destroy something she loved, something that was a part of them.  Now that their son was gone, destroyed by illness rather than spite, she would feel the same pain and he could not keep her from that. 

            Emily’s fever raged on.  Nearly eleven days had passed and Allan Burnley was terrified.  He was as worried about Teddy as he was about Emily.  If he could not save Emily, he knew that Teddy would be lost too.  Teddy had not left her, save to spend precious moments with their daughter, since he entered that night.  Downstairs, Robin was at her piano constantly, playing the same, haunting melodies over and over again.  Her father had raged at Ilse when she tried to get her to stop and play something happier.  The doctor had no idea what this song was, but something in the core of him hated it, and always would.

            Robin’s Mahler score had been eerily prophetic.  She had asked her father for it before he left for New York, specifically, and he had obliged, not really knowing what it was.  He had heard of Gustav Mahler, of course, but knew very little about his work.  How Robin learned of this particular piece, Teddy would never know, but it was something they would both always associate with that winter of pain.  He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it.  He stood with his hands on the piano and felt the resonance course through him.  He watched as his daughter played, her eyes shut, tears rolling down her face slowly.  There were words to this set of five songs, in German.  The words of Ruckert, Teddy could read and understand.  He knew his daughter could not, yet.  The language that spoke to her was in the music itself.  Although scored for orchestra and voice, Robin transposed it to the piano at sight.  Teddy would paint it, eventually, but not yet.  For now, their Cashlin echoed with the melodies of Mahler’s _Kindertotenlieder_ from dawn until dusk, as both Robin and her father, and all of their family, prayed that there would not be more death.

            Their prayers were answered.

            The following morning, Christmas morning, Teddy woke with a start when he felt Emily’s hand move in his.  He slept in a chair, his head pillowed on the bed and his left hand holding hers.  He knew, somehow, that the movement was not part of the fever or delirium.  He looked at her closely.  Her eyes were shut and her lips were mouthing something he could not hear.  He bent his right ear to her face to try to make out what she was saying, cursing the injury all over again.

            “Water,” Emily gasped.  Her body felt like lead.  Even her eyelids were so heavy that she could not lift them.  The only thing she could do was breathe, barely.

            Teddy took the cup and held it to her lips, lifting her up to drink.  “Dr. Burnley!” he bellowed.

            Emily felt the cool liquid touch her lips and heard her husband’s voice calling for the doctor.  She took a cautious sip.  Heavenly.  She took another and then tried to open her eyes again.  She managed to do it and saw the doctor rush into the room, his hair disheveled and his shirt unbuttoned.  She took another sip of water.

            “Thank God!” Allan Burnley breathed.  He knew, just by looking at her, that the worst was over.  He had fallen into a troubled sleep last night after realizing that there was nothing more he could do.  Either she would rally in the next few hours or she wouldn’t.  Some things were out of his hands.  There was something strong in Emily that brought her back to her family, and he knew that he had very little to do with it.  He sat down and took her vitals, but knew what he would find.  She would recover.  “She needs as much water as she can handle, son,” he looked at Teddy.  “But in small doses – two or three sips at a time, every few minutes or so.  What she takes in, she has to keep.”

            Teddy nodded, “Of course, thank you.”  He looked at the doctor with relief and saw how he too, had been worried about Emily.  Everyone was.  He got the distinct feeling that he had been so monopolized by his own grief and anger that he had not been kind to those who had been helping them.  “Can you tell Robin that she’s alright, please?” he said, calmer than he had been since this nightmare began.

            Dr. Burnley nodded, “Of course.  I’ll leave you to…” he didn’t say anymore.  “Take it easy with her, will you?” he whispered.  Teddy would have to be the one to tell her about their son, and he would have to do it soon, but he hoped it would not destroy her.  “I’m going to go home for a bit, make sure my wife will still have me,” he said gruffly.  “I’ll take Robin down with me, but we’ll be back before lunch – likely with lunch, if I know Laura at all.”  He was exhausted and wanted to sleep forever, in his own bed not the Kent’s spare room.  Now that Emily was on the mend, he might just get to do that.

           Teddy nodded at the doctor in thanks and turned back to his wife.  He moved pillows behind her so that she could lay with her head up slightly.  “There love,” he whispered, settling her back and tucking the covers around her gently.

           Emily blinked in confusion, “You’re home early?”  She knew that something wasn’t right.  Teddy was supposed to stay in New York for another week.  She hoped that no one had called him back early on her account.  She was just hot and thirsty after all.  She looked at the bright, slanting sunbeams that came in her bedroom window and hit her writing desk.  Something wasn’t right.  Those were morning sunbeams and it was afternoon, or it had been.  Oh dear!  Ben must’ve panicked and called the doctor.

           Teddy squeezed her hand, gently, “Couldn’t be away for Christmas, love.”  His eyes blurred with the tears he was trying to hold back.  He looked away from her to try and compose himself.  This was going to be hell.

           Something definitely wasn’t right.  Christmas?  That was nearly two weeks away.  Emily struggled to remember.  Something had happened.  She remembered the doctor and Ben and Ilse being here, and Teddy of course.  And her father.  “Teddy, what’s going on?”  She knew full well that seeing her father was not of this world.

           He took in a breath, “Love, you were sick, so very sick.  I thought I was going to lose you,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.  Knowing that she was alive and would recover was wonderful, but he also didn’t have the courage to look into her eyes when he said this to her.

           She managed to lift her left hand to stroke his hair when she felt him shake as he held her, “Oh…”  He must’ve been worried sick.  Her mind wandered back to her father, he had spoken to her, she remembered that.  Something was keeping him here, close to her.  “Of course you didn’t, Elfkin,” he said.  She heard it as clear as if he were standing right beside her now.  “What didn’t I do, Teddy?” she asked softly.  Something was nagging at her consciousness, something that Teddy and her father knew and she didn’t.

           He was stunned.  So she remembered that?  He couldn’t help but look at her now.  He raised his head and took her face in his hands.  Her purple-grey eyes were shadowy and fearful.  She knew this was coming.  “Love, he’s gone,” he whispered.

           Emily’s Wind Woman picked her up and whirled her in a tempest.  She felt like she was soaring above the two people on the bed, looking down at them.  He was gone.  Their baby was gone.  Her father told her that it wasn’t her fault.  She felt it now.  The shadowy curtain lifted for a moment and she felt her parents there, calm and reassuring.  Then she fell back to earth.  She could only look at her husband.  “How?” she said soundlessly.

           Teddy couldn’t let her go now.  All of the grief he had borne alone had to be shared with his wife, the only other person in the world who could understand it.  “Fever,” he said softly.  “They called me home, but he was already…” he shut his eyes, unable to finish the sentence.

           Emily slid her left hand to his cheek and wiped away the tears.  There was more than stubble on his face now.  How long ago had this happened?  “Where is he?” she asked quietly.  “Can I…”

           Teddy shook his head, “We had to bury him, Emily.  Just down the hill, beside your Aunt Elizabeth.  He can see the water and the fields and the rose garden at New Moon…”  He was rambling, he knew that.  He had to make this sound like it was alright, for her sake.

           “Couldn’t you wait for me?  Why did you do this without me?”  There was no malice in the questions she asked.  Although the calm that her father’s voice had put her in was keeping her from the anguish, she knew her husband was in absolute agony.  She should have been there to support him.  He shouldn’t have had to do it alone.

           “It was over a week ago, honey,” he said softly.  “You were too ill to…” he shook his head, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  He couldn’t say anything more; he couldn’t feel anything except the pain right now, something he had avoided for the past week.  Now it came to him suddenly, now that she was here to help him deal with it.  “Oh God, Emily…” he sobbed.

           She held onto him.  There was nothing else she could do.  They had each other.  At least they had each other.  A sudden panic took her, “Teddy, not Robin too?” she asked wildly.

           He held her tighter, “No, no, she’s fine love, she’s perfectly fine.”  That little girl had given him hope.  She could do the same for her mother.  He felt Emily breathe a sigh of relief in his arms and he held her tighter.

 

           Emily stared at the clock in the dim light.  It was only mid-afternoon, but the short days meant that it was dusk already.  Teddy was asleep next to her, his face pale and thinner than normal.  His forehead was creased, even in sleep.  Jed had those lines too, she remembered.  She smoothed them with her hand, gently, and he murmured something in his sleep.  He was sleeping with his right ear on the pillow.  Since his injury, he had tried to break himself of the habit and sleep in the other direction.  They had even gone so far as to switch sides in bed to help him do it.  But old habits were hard to break, and in his exhaustion he had taken his original side of the bed without thinking.  Emily let him be.

           Dr. Burnley and Aunt Laura had been in at lunch time, bringing Robin along.  Her daughter was alive and well and thrilled to see her awake.  She hugged her and promised a wonderful story to her, as soon as she felt better.  She ate half a bowl of turkey broth and felt immensely better, physically.  She supposed that it was the invalid’s version of Christmas dinner.  Mentally, she was still trying to piece together a timeline of what had happened.  She learned from them that it was actually Christmas Day.  Robin snuggled up beside her and told her that Santa had brought her back and that was all that mattered.  Aunt Laura filled in some of the gaps, but only Teddy knew all of it, really, and she was not about to wake him to ask him.  Emotionally, she was strangely detached from it all.  She knew it was probably just a self-defense mechanism, and tried to will herself to feel something, anything.  She couldn’t.  It was as if she were suspended in a hammock of light that only let her see what she was going through objectively.  There was no real pain when and where she knew that there should be.  She thought about writing it down, but she had no idea what she would write, or how.  She looked at the clock again, four-thirty.  Three o’clock in the morning was all well and good, but when your entire day was three o’clock, what were you supposed to do then?

           It took several days for Emily to be able to be up and about.  Robin returned home as soon as Emily could make it up and down the stairs on her own.  Although she could eat now, and did, Emily had no appetite for food, really.  She had no appetite for anything.  She tried to read, but either could not concentrate on the words or fell asleep.  She tried to write, but the blank page was too daunting.  If someone would just move her hand and get her started, she might be able to do it.  No one could do that for her.  So, here she sat, in her living room, beside her fire, with her daughter playing the piano.  She remembered sitting here when Jed was still with her, still protected from this awful reality.  She knew that should make her feel sad.  It didn’t.  She didn’t feel anything.

           Robin Kent looked over at her mother as her hands mechanically moved through a bit of Paganini that she used to warm up after scales.  Robin did not understand that she was a prodigy and her parents didn’t tell her, if they really knew themselves.  They had become used to her ability and her musical knowledge as if it were the norm, as had Robin.  She didn’t know any other six year old piano players that didn’t have all of the Bach Chorales memorized, so she thought that was what everyone did.  Robin didn’t know any other six year old piano players.  She didn’t know anyone else who owned the Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians and read it, but her parents had more books than most people, so that must be one of those things that her family did.

           Robin bit her lip.  She wanted to play the Mahler.  She had tried to stop, now that her mother was awake.  Her dad loved it, and stood beside the piano so many times while Mum had been ill.  But, he told her that she should stop playing it for a while.  Maybe Mum would like it too, though?  “Mum, can I play you something?” she asked tentatively.

           “Of course, dear,” Emily murmured, not really hearing her daughter.  She was trying to remember something, anything that would make her feel.

           Robin shut her eyes.  She remembered that afternoon when she had gone upstairs to get her brother from his cradle in her parent’s bedroom.  She remembered his tiny little fairy face, with the calm, pale eyes that seemed to sigh with relief when they saw her.  She remembered his warm little body cuddled next to her as they waited for the doctor.  She began to play.

           Emily’s eyes flew open and she stared at her daughter.  The music floated around her like a cloud.  It was every emotion she had grasped for in the past week.  It was all of the pain she needed to feel.  She waited for it to come to her.  Finally.  She knew she had to.  Her father’s net of protection left her slowly, giving her time to breathe as the sadness came.  The tears came one at a time, slowly, gently letting her accept them for what they were.

           Teddy dropped his paintbrush, grabbed up the sketchbook on his table, and rushed into the living room.  He couldn’t hear what Robin was playing, but the emotion behind the sound changed and he knew that it was the Mahler, without hearing a note.  He saw his wife on the couch, gasping for air, her eyes shut.  She was sobbing without making a sound.  So it had come, finally.  She told him that she couldn’t feel anything, that she felt oddly separate from the grief that they needed to deal with.  She knew that he needed her to be there and apologized so many times for not being able to do that yet.  The time had come. 

           He opened the sketchbook in his hands and went to sit beside her.  She opened her eyes and threaded her fingers through his, holding onto him.  He hadn’t shown her this.  He hadn’t shown anyone else and never would.  But, this was Emily’s as much as it was his.  He spent the hours with his son after his death drawing.  He had drawn every part of him.  He had captured the tiny eyelashes, closed over his mother’s eyes, in delicate whispers of ink.  He had drawn his hands, finally relaxed against the pillow; they fought long enough against the fever that finally won.  He had drawn the shell-shaped ears with just the tiniest points at their tips.  He gave these to Emily now.  He gave her their son to hold once more.

           Robin looked over at her parents when the fifth song finished.  She knew that it was right to play this now.  She began again.  Daddy would tell her when to stop.

_“In this weather, in this gale, in this windy storm,_

_they rest as if in their mother's house:_

_frightened by no storm,_

_sheltered by the Hand of God.”_

_\- Ruckert – “Kindertotenlieder”_

 

 


	30. "Why Should I Cry For You?"

_“Sometimes I see your face,_   
_The stars seem to lose their place_   
_Why must I think of you?_   
_Why must I?_   
_Why should I?_   
_Why should I cry for you?_   
_Why would you want me to?”_

_\- Sting – “Why Should I Cry For You?”_

Although it almost hurt to do so, Emily got well.  Every day was easier.  Every day the pain was less keening, the sadness was less at the front of her mind.  Every day the sun rose and set, and she made it through one more day.  She could not have done it without her husband and her daughter; that was one thing that she knew for certain.  Teddy had given his wife his sketchbook and had given her the memory of their son to hold forever.  Robin had played the Mahler for her and allowed her to grieve.  She found her hands again and began to write.  Their world continued to revolve.

Perry’s campaign was moving at breakneck speed.  He was constantly away at rallies and dinners, and Ilse went with him and had her own speaking engagements.  Although she no longer spoke as publicly about her desire for women’s suffrage, she did engage the female population in the election and made their male counterparts step up and take notice.  She had made three radio broadcasts already in support of her husband, and was set to take part in a short dramatic sketch on the Shrewsbury station.  Although she had not pursued her career seriously, she was again making a name for herself in more ways than one.  Vibrant and mercurial as always, her deportment was as curious as it ever had been.  She was the life of every party and the topic of a few too many speculative conversations about temperance.  She did deny that one virulently!  She had been drunk only once in her life and did not intend to repeat that folly.  She told everyone so.

Emily and Teddy did not want to become a part of the active campaigning and took a silent role in all of the public activities.  Their support of their friend’s bid for Premier was financial and familial.

“He makes the money and I spend it,” Perry said jovially when he met with Emily and Teddy to go over the budget.  Teddy was not unwilling to spend money on this, but did rein the fabulous pair in a time or two.

“$78 for a cab ride in Charlottetown?” He looked up at Perry in astonishment.  “What did you do, lose your house?”

“No, that was me,” Ilse admitted, “I took the Governor General out for a look see in town and he wanted to hear my Lady MacBeth.  We just rode around until I finished.  He loved it!”  Ilse grinned with pride.

“Buy him bloody theater tickets next time!” Teddy ordered and did not cover the expense.

                Teddy and Emily found themselves the parents of six, more often than not, taking over the guardianship of the Burnley-Miller brood while their parents were away.  This had previously fallen to Dr. Burnley and Aunt Laura, but a belated Christmas gift made that impossible.  Hearing that they had never had a honeymoon and that Aunt Laura had never been off the Island in her entire life, Teddy organized a grand tour of some of the best hospitals in North America and sent them on it.  The children eagerly awaited postcards from their globetrotting grandparents as they explored the continent on their trip.  In a way, Teddy was trying to make up for his bad humor during the days that followed his son’s death.  For the couple, it was the trip of a lifetime.

                At first, Teddy feared Emily would wear herself out looking after so many children.  But, when he saw her with them, he knew it was the right thing to do.  She needed to keep herself busy, and although he was not an overly strict parent, he could see that Ilse and Perry’s kids needed a bit of order and discipline in their lives, the girls in particular.  Emily had not been raised under the supervision of the New Moon aunts for nothing.  Under her guidance the girls learned to clean up after themselves and not hurt anyone in the kitchen.  They also learned that silence might be a virtue, and even if it wasn’t, the quiet game with Uncle Teddy usually had prizes.

                Although she was still writing her column for the Star, Emily’s fiction writing had stalled for her.  She had difficulty making the words she wrote not sound hollow, and her poetry, in particular, now seemed so ephemeral and lacking in substance.  Teddy, on the other hand, was painting like a fiend.  There were so many things we wanted to put on canvas, and for once, they were not all Emily.  He had always loved landscapes, loved the colors and the shading and shape of natural things.  He was not strictly a realist, but painted with strong Impressionist tendencies.  He was preparing for a show in Montreal in the fall, his first since the war, and spent the spring and summer working on it.

                “You should paint like Debussy!” Robin accused her father, one afternoon when she came upon him in the old orchard, working on a small vignette of apple blossoms.

                Was he so out of touch with the world of art that Robin knew someone he didn’t?  “Who is Debussy?” he asked his wee lass, looking at his painting from another angle and immediately seeing an error in perspective.

                “French Impressionist composer,” she said, matter-of-factly, as if everyone on the planet should know this.  She settled herself comfortably on the grass beside her father’s stool.  “Aunt Laura has _la Mer_ on her Victrola.  You should listen to that and then try to paint this.  You’re getting the shading all wrong.”  She looked up at her father appraisingly.

                Teddy regarded his pint-sized critic with slight annoyance, “Oh really?  And how would I improve the shading by listening to a piece of music?” He had still not told his daughter that it wouldn’t make a difference what he listened to, he still wouldn’t hear it.  His pride also smarted just a bit.  He knew the shading was wrong, but to hear a six year old tell him that was a bit caustic.

                Robin bit her lip.  She supposed that her mother would call what she had said to Daddy impertinent and send her to Coventry, Emily’s choice form of punishment.  Being sent to Coventry meant that you were ignored for the duration of your sentence.  Usually it was applied at meals and it was agonizing.  Robin did not normally speak out a lot – her mind was usually occupied with things musical – but when in Coventry she always found that she had a great deal to say.  Emily had suggested, practically, that she think before she speak and not end up there in the first place.  Daddy was not a believer in Coventry, as a rule, but he would acquiesce to just about anything her mother asked.  He usually came up to cuddle her when it was all over, though, and listen to her myriad of ideas when she had the chance to say them.  If she was lucky, he would draw a funny interpretation of what she’d done wrong as a reminder.  She decided to explain herself, “Debussy stacks notes one on top of the other.  All you hear is a wash of sound.  Then one changes, then another, then another.  You don’t notice that it’s something different until it is already there.  It’s called planing.”

                A wash of sound.  Teddy could certainly identify with that.  “Sounds like Monet to me,” he said reasonably.  Maybe some lime in the colors to blend them?

                Robin shrugged, “A bit.  Not so realistic though – more feeling than form.  The motion has to be seamless.  You’d be good at it because you can do caricatures that move really well.”  She smiled companionably at her father.  She loved the little drawings that he made for her, Bandy, and the girls.  They were like cartoons, but he would have a whole series of them.  If you flipped the pages really fast, it looked like they were walking and moving across the page.  Her favorite was of a gorilla slipping on a banana peel.  They had seen Charlie Chaplin do that in a movie, but she thought Daddy’s gorilla was better, especially since the primate in question looked a lot like the new postmaster in town who had enormous ears.  Daddy never said anything derogatory about people, but sometimes he would draw their faults in a way that was far more cutting than his words ever could be.  She couldn’t draw anything to save her life, so she usually ended up saying things she shouldn’t.  “Thanks for not sending me to Coventry for criticizing.”

                Teddy grinned, “Oh no, I’ve something far more useful for you to do.  Help me clean up these brushes and we shall overlook the transgression, hmm?”  He took her hand and they walked together back to their Cashlin.

 

                “My mama says that your Mum and Daddy are in looove!”

                Robin threw her cousin Bean a look that should have stopped her dead.  It didn’t.  The Murray Look was useless on the Burnley girls unless it came from Aunt Emily.  Bean was the eldest, almost Bandy’s age and annoying as hell!  (That was something Robin had overheard Aunt Ilse say about the new speaker of the house.  She didn’t really consider it to be ‘colorful language’ because Hell was bound to be annoying.  Even the minister said so!)  Bean was long for Bea, which was alternatively short for Beatrice.  Robin was an expert at nicknames.  She could look at a person and come up with a name that suited them instantly – often it was not their real name, but a convoluted version of it.  Bea was Bean because she looked like one – tall and lanky with hanks of corn silk blonde hair that hung to her waist.  She looked like a yellow string bean in the height of summer.  “Of course they’re in love!” Robin snapped.  “Married people are always in love.”  Just because she was almost ten did not mean that Bean knew everything.  Far from it!  Bean couldn’t tell you the difference between Bach and Rachmaninoff and couldn’t spell either one.  Robin knew that you married someone when you loved them.  She knew that for a fact because Mum had told her a story about it just the other night.

                “They are not!  Look at Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield.  He has that weird cowlick and she doesn’t wash her dishtowels often enough.  You couldn’t fall in love with that!” Bean looked down on her little cousin with an air of superiority.

                “Well maybe _I_ couldn’t, but maybe they like each other in spite of it!”  Robin really didn’t see what was so bad about cowlicks.  Sometimes Daddy had one if he forgot to go to the barber for weeks and weeks, but Mum just brushed it down for him, kissed him on the cheek, and reminded him to go.  It seemed awfully silly to not marry a perfectly good person over a cowlick, but then, Bean was strangely obsessed with hair styles.

                “My mama says that now that your Mum is better you’re going to have a whole houseful of brothers and sisters unless your Daddy smartens up,” Bean tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders, twirling it at the same time so that it hung in a neat twist down her back.  She had seen one of the high school girls do that and thought it was the height of sophistication.

                “You take that back!” Robin stood up to her full height, which was miniscule compared to Bean’s almost five feet.  “My daddy is plenty smart!  And we are not going to have a whole houseful of children, ever.  Our house is full enough with you Millers!”  She screamed the last and turned on her heel, plowing straight into her father.  “Oh, sod it!” she exclaimed colorfully.

                “Pardon me?” Teddy bent down and looked at his daughter sternly.  “What did I just hear you say?”

                Robin was livid.  She had been defending her father and now here he was, getting mad at her for saying something that she heard Aunt Ilse say all the time.  “You heard me fine!” she said angrily and took off up the path to Cashlin.  Unluckily, her father’s long legs caught up with her easily – another peril of her small stature.

                “Just a minute, young lady,” he said in a low voice.  Her use of colorful language was one thing, but her comment about his hearing cut him a bit too deeply.  He had heard her, but he didn’t always.

                Robin turned and faced him.  Mum always said that you couldn’t run away from your problems or ignore them, you had to just meet them head on and deal with them.  She tried to calm down and explain herself, “Yes, I said it.  I said ‘sod it’.  It’s colorful language, I know that.”  She dropped her lashes and scuffed her feet in the brown pine needles on the path.  “I was so angry at Bean.  She said a mean thing and I got mad at her.  Then I tried to just walk away from it and I ran into you.  I got madder because I looked stupid.”  She looked up at her father, “Sorry I didn’t listen and that I said a mean thing back.” There, that was meeting it head on, wasn’t it?

                Teddy crouched down and met her at eye level, “I accept your apology.  Now, what did Bea say that was mean?”  He had to watch himself.  He had almost called the child Bean and knew that Perry would have a rainbow of expletives if he heard that.  In his private sketchbook he had drawn the girl just as Robin’s nickname described her.  Emily had slapped his hand, called him wicked genius, and then grinned at him like a contented cat.  The description she had shown him in her Jimmy book later was hilariously accurate.

                Robin shrugged, “Nothin’ that’s important to adults.”  It probably wasn’t, after all.  Mum and Daddy were in love, after all, and could have all the kids they wanted, she guessed.  Her Daddy was one of the best painters in the world.  No one thought he was stupid, she had probably just over-reacted.

                Teddy turned her toward him when she tried to move away.  Sometimes he had to look at her to hear her, her voice was so low.  “Everything that is important to you is important to your Mum and me.  You know that.  Now what was it?”

                Robin sighed.  Daddy could wrestle anything out of her without even really trying.  She could stonewall her mother fairly well because Mum didn’t brook any nonsense and would just tell her that if she needed time to think about things, she could have it in Coventry.  Daddy was another matter.  “Well, she said that you and Mum are going to have a houseful of children because you’re not smart enough.”  She looked at her father and saw the shock on his face, “She said that’s what her mama said, but I know that you are way smarter than Aunt Ilse and that you and Mum aren’t going to fill up a house with kids because you already have me and Jed and I’m so little I’d just get lost in it all and you might forget about Jed because he spends all his time with God and Aunt Elizabeth.”  There.  She’d said it.  She’d even said why it made her so upset to hear Bean say it.

                Teddy was shocked, both by what Bea had said to her and by why she was angry.  Oh this was a can of worms he would far rather Emily open.  But, it had come to him, so he had to take it on.  He stood up and led his daughter to a large rock beside the stream that ran down next to the path.  He sat her on it and then leaned against it himself.  “Thank you for thinking I’m intelligent.  But your Aunt Ilse is a pretty smart lady too, you know?”

                Robin nodded.  She knew that.  Anyone who could wear hats like Aunt Ilse did must have a great working knowledge of physics.  At least that’s what Dr. Burnley had said when she went to a rally wearing a hat that was a beaver recreated with feathers.

                “And as for brothers and sisters, what do you think?” he looked at his daughter in question.  This was a topic that he and Emily had avoided lately.  It wasn’t that they didn’t want more children, but there was more than a little bit of fear involved now.  There was also a kernel of advice that he’d received from one of his doctor friends that wasn’t sitting well with him.  But that was not the matter at hand.  Finding out how his daughter might feel about having siblings was important.

                Robin shrugged, trying to seem like it wasn’t a big deal, “Whatever.”

                “No,” Teddy said softly, “Not whatever.  You were upset about it.  Do you want brothers and sisters?”  This would be useful information, definitely.

                Robin pursed her lips and looked out at the Blair Water that peeked through the trees on their right, “Isn’t it enough to have me and Jed?” she didn’t look at her father when she said it.  She knew that he and Mum were still so sad about Jed leaving.  She was too.  And even if everybody seemed to think that God was so great, she thought that it was nicer to get real hugs from your parents from time to time.  She said as much to her father, “I know that you miss Jed, but I’ll bet he misses you too.  God’s supposed to be pretty nice, but I wouldn’t want Mum’s Aunt Elizabeth hugging me when I fell.  No disrespect intended,” she added as an afterthought.

                Teddy blinked in astonishment.  The mind of a child was a truly miraculous thing.  “Yes, we do miss him.  Do you miss him too?”  He put his arm around her gently.  She was so tiny!  Sometimes he forgot that, especially when she played the piano.  She was like his mother in that respect.  Aileen Kent had been a wisp of a woman, petite and nymph slender.  She hadn’t even come up to his shoulder once he was grown.  For all that, she had been a strong woman, as her granddaughter was.  He wondered what his mother would think of their family.

                Robin nodded, “I miss him a lot.  I’m also kind of upset about his funeral.”  She looked up at her father, hoping that he wouldn’t start to cry about this.  They had enough crying while Mum was sick.  Sometimes crying didn’t really help, you just had to buckle down and get things done.  Robin knew that was a very Murray thing to say, because Mum had told her it was when she said it to her once.  Robin thought that some of the Murrays must have been pretty bright because a lot of what they said made sense.

                Teddy was upset about the funeral too, or the lack thereof.  For practical reasons, it needed to happen the way it had.  He just felt like it was a bit unfinished.  “What are you upset about with the funeral?”  Robin had not even been there.

                “I think we should have buried him in the garden at Cashlin.  He loved the garden.  He was always looking at the flowers like he knew their names and just couldn’t say them yet – of course he couldn’t say anything yet, but still…” Robin shook her head.  “He’s way down on the other side of New Moon, and he can’t hear Mum’s bedtime stories or see your paintings, or even hear me play the piano, even when I play _really_ loud.  I think he must be really lonely there with all of those old, dead Murrays.”  Robin had figured that once you were dead for a really long time and no one that you knew was alive, you were actually just dead.  There was no point in staying in heaven forever, was there?  After a while you would be bound to say the wrong thing and end up in purgatory.  Newly dead people just went to their spots at night time to rest, but the older ones got to stay all the time.

                Teddy swallowed back the tears, “I think I agree with you.  I never thought about how he might miss being at home.”  He had thought about missing his son, himself, but had never looked at it this way.  “But Robin, I think you know that we loved him very much.  Your Mum and I think about him all the time.  We could never forget him, or you, for that matter, even if you are small.”  He chose to use her words.

                She nodded, “Sure, I know that, but I don’t know if it would be the same.  Jed was pretty special because he came right when you and Mum came home and it was so nice to have you back and have a brother at the same time, you know?”  She was encouraged by her father’s nod, “So, I guess it might be okay to have more brothers or sisters as long as…” she shook her head, “No, I won’t say that.  It’s hateful.”

                “Say what wee lass?”  Teddy waited for a bombshell on this one.  If Robin was shocked by her own words, they were bound to be incredibly interesting.

                “Well…” she looked up at her father, “If I say it, you’ve got to promise that I won’t go to Coventry, because after all, I was holding my tongue and you beat the truth out of me.”  She thought that was a rather eloquent line, a lot better than having a lie beat out of you, because really, what would be the point in that?

                “I have never beaten you in my life, Robin!” Teddy shook his head.  “But okay, no Coventry if it’s a wicked thought.  I’ll just tell you it’s wicked and not to say it again, okay?”  He looked down at his daughter and then smoothed her hair affectionately.  The red hair was not his mother’s.  It was no one in his family that he knew of, or that his Aunt Katie could remember either.  Aunt Laura mentioned that it was very similar to her father’s hair, if memory served her correctly.

                “Okay, deal!”  She grinned up at her father, “Maybe it’s not hateful, just uncharitable.  People can’t help the way they are, I suppose, and we should always be kind to those who have less than us.  Mum said St. Paul said that.”  She looked up at her father and saw that he had that bemused look on his face that he got when Mum said extremely clever and obscure things.  Mum really was awfully smart, and could say things to you that you didn’t really understand but knew were true because she _must_ know what she was talking about.  She figured that Daddy might also just want her to get on with it, “If I have more brothers and sisters, I want to make sure that I get to pick them out.”

                Teddy stifled a laugh, and looked at her as seriously as he could manage, “Where do you go to pick out brothers and sisters?  I don’t have any, so I don’t know,” he qualified.  This was going to be a tricky conversation, but he was so enraptured by his daughter that he didn’t care.

                “I don’t know either,” Robin said.  She had always thought that parents were the ones who chose their children, but if Daddy didn’t know about it, then that was certainly a mystery!  Mum was independent about a lot of things, but you’d think she’d at least ask Daddy’s opinion about something like that.  She would definitely have to talk to Bandy about that!  Speaking of…  “But I do know that Bandy is pretty upset that he didn’t have any say with his sisters.  I know he would have made a way better choice than the ones he got!”  Robin shook her head in confusion, “Why on earth Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry picked them, when they could have had any babies in the world, I cannot figure.  Maybe they didn’t know they would be so dippy when they were babies though,” Robin had never really considered that.  Babies weren’t altogether very descriptive about themselves.

                “Dippy?” Teddy was smiling now, he couldn’t help it.  He wished Emily were here to write this down.  This was a conversation for a book if he ever heard one.

                “Dr. Burnley called them that one day when Boo and Kay locked themselves in the outhouse.  I say it was lucky they didn’t fall in!  Bean only cares about her hair, and the twins are so clumsy that they would fall off the floor.  The worst of it is Laura Beth.  Seems to me that someone should tell that girl reading books will not make you allergic!”  Robin shook her head, poor Bandy.  The trials of others were certainly something to make you realize how good you had it.  “So as long as we make sure that our new babies… well that they fit in with us right like Jed did, it would be okay to have more around, I guess,” Robin finished off her explanation and looked up at her father.

                Teddy was still trying not to laugh at her description of her cousins.  Bea was vain and self-centered, and the twins Rose and Iris were unbelievable clumsy and accident prone.  Laura Beth was not a scholar, definitely.  “That’s… that’s good Robin,” he said, trying to regain his composure.  “I’ll talk it over with Mum and we’ll let you know, okay?”

                She slipped down off the rock and took his hand as they started up the hill again, “Thanks Daddy.  I appreciate being in the know.”  She smiled to herself.  Her parents must be smart.  They always saw things as they really were.  Some things weren’t as they should be though.  For one, there was a large black automobile parked outside the front gate of Cashlin.  It didn’t look like a friendly car, somehow.  “Daddy?  Whose car is that?” Robin asked.

                Teddy shrugged, “I have no idea.  Let’s go in and see, shall we?”  He had not heard that Emily was expecting anyone, so it would be a surprise for both of them.

 

 


	31. "Uninvited"

_“Like any uncharted territory_   
_I must seem greatly intriguing_   
_You speak of my love like_   
_You have experienced love like mine before_   
_But this is not allowed_   
_You're uninvited_   
_An unfortunate slight.”_

_\- Alanis Morisette – “Uninvited”_

                Emily stood in the hallway, facing him, her face flushed with anger.  She shook her head in disbelief, “You have no idea what you are talking about!”  Her words were even and low in volume.

                Ah!  He’d hit a nerve then, had he?  Dean shrugged and looked at her, “No, I suppose I don’t.  I never had children because I knew I wasn’t suited to it.  You aren’t either, and I think you know that.”  He looked at Emily relentlessly, considering what he would say next very carefully.  He had been so worried about her when his sister wrote that she was ill.  When he was finally able to return to the Island he heard that she and her husband had lost a child as well.  The very idea that any man would put his Star through something like that made him boil with anger, and had precipitated his visit here today.  He had to take her away from this life of drudgery and show her what the world could really be like.

Dean Priest had buried his feelings for Emily almost completely since he had seen her last, since she had kissed him.  She had told him that she belonged to another man, for the second time.  He had to learn to deal with that.  But not this.  You could not belong to someone who hurt you that way, and he would never hurt her.

                Emily dropped her hands to her sides and clenched them into fists, “How dare you say that to me?”  She had been angry with Dean before.  She despised what he had done to her in the past, but she had honestly thought that it was over.  She thought she had made it unmistakably clear to him that she was Teddy’s wife and no one else’s.  Although she knew that friendship might not be possible given the circumstances, she thought that he would at least let it go.  It had been a pleasant surprise to see him at the door this afternoon, but the conversation had quickly turned into something very uncomfortable and unpleasant.  Now he was telling her that she was not fit to be a mother?

                “Star, it is a life for a life, can’t you see that?” he moved toward her slowly.  “You gave up yourself to bear children, but now that your son is gone you can have it back.  Come with me Star, leave all of this behind you!”  He took her hands in his and held on tight.

                Teddy stood in the doorway that led from the kitchen and looked at the scene in disbelief.  This was the last thing he had expected.  Neither of the two had seen him, so he took another step back.  Thank heavens he had sent Robin back to New Moon to pick up her schoolbooks when he heard Dean’s voice!  He turned to leave them in private, but realized that he had to hear what Emily said in return.  Was there even a possibility?

                “Leave this behind me?” Emily shook her head and laughed slightly.

                Teddy shuddered when he saw Dean take the tiniest movement forward, toward her.  He had never liked or trusted Dean Priest.  When he saw him in Paris, he fought long and hard with himself about sending the package back to Emily with him.  That had led to their argument in France, and although he accepted Emily’s description of their last conversation, he had a feeling that Dean had not seen things exactly the same way.  He hated when he was right about things like this.  Teddy also knew, from experience, what it was like to want a woman you didn’t have.  And he knew that when the woman was Emily, things could be even more unstable.

                A part of him wanted to interrupt the conversation and throw Dean out before any more was said or done.  He knew that all it would take was a few steps into the hallway and Dean would leave and their castle would be theirs once more.  But he had to know.

                Emily shut her eyes, “You can’t see it.  You still can’t see it!”  She shook her head, “I can’t leave my children behind me.  They are a part of me.  They’re my flesh and blood and Teddy’s together.  How can you even suggest that?”

                “I would never have had to hold you with a child,” Dean said, his tone unmistakable.

                “No one is holding me!” Emily shrieked violently and took a step backward.  Emily never raised her voice, as a rule.  “I’m here because I belong here.  This is where my heart and soul are.  Don’t you dare say that Teddy has to hold me with anything!  He never would.  You couldn’t keep me because I was never yours to begin with,” she finished angrily.  She knew that what she was saying was both vicious and hurtful, but it had to be done.  Nothing she said before had worked so she had to make the cut clean and complete.  “I will never come to you, ever.  I was never yours, not even when you saved my life.  You wanted so badly to possess me.  You might have had my love once, but you wanted something that I could never give you and you lost me because of it.”

                “But you’ve given it to him?” Dean’s voice was tortured.

                “And there’s the real heart of it,” Emily said, lowering her voice.  “You can’t deal with the fact that I give him freely what you couldn’t even take from me.  Dean, it’s over.  It never even happened.  You’ve lived all of these years with the shadow of me in your mind.  I’m a real woman, Dean.  I’m married and in love and I belong to Teddy.  It has never been any different for me.”

                Dean Priest was stricken, “Star… Star, please?  See this for what it really is!”

                “Oh I see it, Dean,” Emily shook her head sadly.  “I see that you can’t, or won’t ever be able to accept friendship as all I have to give you.  I see that you are so twisted by jealousy and greed that you cannot even see that you lost me.”  In her heart, Emily was deeply saddened by this.  She had appreciated Dean’s friendship for years.  She did not want that to end.  It had to.  “You did this, Dean.  Only you.”

                “Star, do you remember when we kissed?” Dean saw her husband out of the corner of his eye, standing in the shadows.  Alright, he might have lost her, but Kent would not have her unblemished.  The need to lash back at her somehow was irresistible.  When her husband rejected her for her indiscretion, a piece of her would still be his.

                “Of course I do,” Emily snapped.  “I kissed you.  I gave you that, and I told you that it would never happen again.  It won’t.”

                “You cannot tell me that you felt nothing, Star.  That would be a lie, and you know it.”  Dean stepped toward her and raised his hand to touch her hair.  He was more than surprised when she did not brush his hand away.  Perhaps… “Star?”

                Emily made her decision irrevocable, “All I felt was that you were not Teddy.  You never could be, and he is all I want – then and now.”  Emily watched Dean crumble in front of her eyes.  His hand fell to his side.  His uneven shoulders slumped even more and his chin dropped to his chest.  Her words had torn the very foundation of his being from beneath him.  The real truth of her feelings had destroyed him beyond repair.  But it was the truth.

                “Star…”

                “No,” she said evenly.  “I am not your star.  Your star has set.  Take your spite and your jealousy and go.  Dean, you cannot come back here, ever again.  You are not welcome.”  She stepped forward and opened the door behind him.  “Goodbye, Dean.”

                He turned and stepped out of the house that had once been his – theirs together.  “Farewell, Emily,” his voice was a whisper.

                “No.”  Emily stood up to her full height, her back straight and rigid.  “No, Dean.  It is goodbye.”  She shut the door firmly and slipped the latch into place.  Her forehead fell to rest on the smooth wood and she shut her eyes.  This was not what she wanted to do to him.  She never wanted to hurt him so.  She took a deep breath and stood up.  She heard his car slowly move down the driveway.  “Teddy?” she said softly.  She felt him come into the shadows behind her during the end of their conversation.  A part of her wanted him to just walk in and deal with it for her, but the larger part knew that if they were ever to move past this element of contention in their relationship, she would have to be the one to do it.  She hadn’t acknowledged his presence until now.

                He stepped forward, “Emily I didn’t mean to…” He didn’t want her to think that he had been deliberately eavesdropping on a very private conversation.  He had simply walked in on it.  He had been appalled at the way Dean spoke to Emily.  There was a condescension that he had never heard toward her before, from anyone.  Dean spoke down to her and felt it his right.  Was that the way their relationship had always been?  If so, Emily would have simply wasted away in a marriage to the man.  How had she even been his friend?

                She came into his arms and held him close to her, resting her head on his chest.  They stood that way for several moments.  “I had to do it.  I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

                Teddy nodded and held her lightly, not saying anything.  He did not want to hold her too tightly.  He had to give her the opportunity to leave his arms if she wanted to.  Somehow, what Dean said about keeping her here because of a child hit a nerve for him.  Robin had brought them closer than they had ever been before and Jed even more so.  Was what Dean said really untrue?

                “I’ll never leave you,” she said quietly.  “You know that, don’t you?”

                “Of course I do,” he said in reply.  He lifted his hand and touched her hair where Dean had, brushing the memory of that other touch away for both of them.  “Are you alright?”  He wondered how long the conversation had been going on.  He had obviously walked in on the end of it, but what else might have been said and done?

                She shrugged and moved away from him into the living room.  She mechanically picked up the two teacups and the tray that sat on the coffee table and brought them into the kitchen.  Teddy watched her clean up in the kitchen without speaking.  She had to be the one to talk about this.  It was none of his business, really.

                Emily set her lips firmly and gritted her teeth.  Now that it was done, there was anger.  She picked up the teapot to rinse it out and looked down at it.  It was a glorious green and gold china pot with a five-clawed red dragon on it.  Dean had brought it to the house when they were decorating it together.  He had also commented on the fact that she still had it this afternoon.  All of a sudden, it was too much.  She took the pot and smashed it on the floor and then proceeded to open the cabinets one by one.  Every dish, plate, and scrap of china and crystal that had been his joined the pot on the floor.  She stood over her ruin, breathing hard.  “No more!” she said vehemently.

                Teddy’s forehead creased deeply, but he still said nothing.  Obviously there was some ghost here that he did not understand, some specter that she needed to exorcise.  Ilse went through crockery at an alarming rate, but Emily had never, to his knowledge, done anything like this before.  This was not just anger.

                “Teddy,” she said evenly, still breathing hard, “there’s a chair in the living room, the one with the striped blue cover?”  She looked up at him to make sure he understood.

                He nodded at her, slowly.  He had a vague idea about where this was going now.

                “Get rid of it,” she ordered, “and the half-round table in the hall, and the mirror in Robin’s room.  They all need to go.”  She turned to the sink and swallowed hard.  “There’s a green glass lamp in your studio as well, and the blue jug that we use for flowers.”

                “Alright,” he said, quietly.  “What do you want me to do with them?”  He looked at her and waited for her answer.  All of these items had been in the house when they first redecorated and reorganized before they were married.  Some other furniture had been relegated to the attic or the shed, but Emily had kept all of these things.  They were obviously reminders that she no longer wanted.

                She turned and faced him, “I don’t care what you do with them.  Just don’t ever let me see them again.”  Her voice broke on the last word and she dropped her face into her hands.  “Can you… can you give me a moment, Teddy?” she said, softly.

                He nodded, and then said, “Take all the time you need.  I’ll go and take care of those things for you right now.”  He left the room quietly and went into the hall.  The table she had mentioned held the telephone.  He picked up the receiver and dialed New Moon.  He hated using the phone, as a rule.  It was very hard for him to hear, but some things couldn’t be helped.  When Aunt Laura answered, she immediately told him the Robin had decided to stay over and help Cousin Jimmy build a bonfire to roast potatoes.  A part of Teddy was glad of that, he and Emily needed some time alone.  He then spoke to Cousin Jimmy and asked if he would mind bringing up the wagon trailer as soon as possible.  He rang off when the arrangements had been made and began to move the items she mentioned.  He piled them all up behind the drive shed.  When Cousin Jimmy arrived, they loaded them together.

                Jimmy said very little as they worked, but as he was about to leave, en route to the beach where they burned large items like these, he spoke quietly, “She never needed him.  He wanted her to, but she never did.  She needs you.”  With that, he clicked his tongue at the horses and set off.

                Teddy walked back to the house.  Before he entered, he looked at it from the gate.  The little painted sign swayed gently in the wind.  The two wicker chairs on the porch sat, companionably, beside one another with a small table between them.  The flowers on the table were from their garden – lilies of summer.  Their fragrance wafted over to him, strong and heady.  Emily had lilies in her wedding bouquet, he remembered.  Eight years she had been his wife, eight years on the morrow, to be precise.  It felt like a moment and a lifetime all at once.  In all that time, in all they had done and been through together, she had always turned to him.  They didn’t always agree on things, but they had learned to talk them out.  He didn’t shut her out when he was angry, and she spoke her mind about everything important.  They had made that pact in France, when he returned from his tour of the line after their argument.  But really, they had made the same promise when they married and found the end of their rainbow.  He went up the steps slowly and entered.  He left the front door open so the evening breeze could come in and remove the last vestiges of their unwanted guest.  He walked back into the kitchen.

                Emily turned to him from the stove, “Thank you,” she said softly.

                He nodded in acceptance.  She had cleaned up the fragments of glass from the floor.  He did not ask her what she had done with them; he didn’t care.  “Robin’s down at New Moon for the night.  They’re having a bonfire.  We can go if you like?”  He sat down, easily, in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.  This had come from the Tansy Patch.  He remembered sitting at it with his mother as a boy.

                She shook her head, “No, I think we need to stay here tonight.  We have a date with our Cashlin, you know?”  Emily smiled at him over her shoulder.

                Damn.  She was positively bewitching when she did that!  He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil and sketched her face in that position.  He loved the line of her jaw and the way her eyes seemed to slant upwards more than usual when she looked at him like that.  He hadn’t painted that in a long time.  “Oh we do, do we?”  There was a smile in his voice, as there had been in hers.

                “Mmm,” she murmured, and went back to her cooking.  She took a deep breath of evening air as the breeze stirred the leaves outside her kitchen window.  “Did you leave the door open?” she asked softly.  She hoped he had.  If it were really up to her, and practical, she would leave the door open all of the time.  She loved the many moods of the Wind Woman who lived in the air around their home.  There was the bright, crystal air of January that made the inside of your nose crackle, the April wet and celeriac smell of spring – the promise of all things good and green, then the warm, seductive languor of July, and tonight’s wistful August warmth.  October and its apple tang of chill would follow as would the peat-damp dusky cool of November.  Their house loved them all.  She felt that it needed to breathe sometimes, from the inside as well as the out.  Especially tonight – their Cashlin needed to wash away the memories that had tied it to the disappointed past, as did they.

                “I did,” he said quietly.  “Let’s take the table outside for supper, okay?”  He knew she would agree and picked up their two chairs.  They hadn’t done this in a while.  It was nice to be able to do it now.  When he finished moving the furniture and had set the table with the dishes she gave him, he went down to the cellar and unearthed a bottle of champagne and another of a golden cherry-flavored white wine from the south of Italy.  She had loved it when they visited there, drinking it with pasta and pizza, and even with breakfast on occasion.  He joined her in the kitchen again and handed her the tall glass of champagne.

                Emily shut her eyes and smiled, “To freedom?” she offered.

                “And to belonging,” he touched his glass to hers and they drank slowly.

                Emily smacked her lips, “Oooooh, pre-war Clicquot.  We are celebrating, aren’t we?”  She grinned happily.  “Dinner, as promised!”  She carried a covered platter out to the table he had set in the garden, underneath a pergola of wild roses that had been Cousin Jimmy’s idea several years ago.  The cuttings had come from the ravine behind their house in Toronto, but they bloomed here like nowhere else.

                He pulled her chair out for her and then touched his lips to her neck, right beneath her ear.  He loved kissing his wife.  He figured that would not ever change.  He handed her one perfect white lily, “You taste better than any dinner.”  Then he joined her across the table, “But, since I did have lunch with Perry, and Ilse made a mess rather than a meal, I am a bit famished.”  He lifted the lid and chuckled at what he saw, “Oh, we do have a date, don’t we?  I’d forgotten about that.”  Toast, bacon, and marmalade.  They had snuck into the house as children, made a fire, and a pact to one day live there, write and paint together, and eat this meal.

                Emily smiled at him.  Teddy understood.  She had known, deep down, that he would.  In her heart of hearts, she knew he would support her in this, as in all things.

 

                They lay together in their bed later that night, Teddy’s fingers drawing a line across her shoulder in the moonlight.  “Poetry,” he murmured, pressing his lips to trace the shape his fingers had made.  “I wish I could write poetry, sometimes.”

                Emily smiled to herself and shut her eyes, “Looking to take my job, are you?”  The window was open, as they all were in the house.  Although they had finally shut the front door, they had left the kitchen door open for the night.  The door to their room and all of the bedrooms were wide open as well.  Tonight had been all about air and moonlight, grace and fluidity.  She knew by the feel of her husband’s hands that it was far from over and sighed in sheer bliss.

                “No, just… sometimes I want to be able to put you into words.  You write about everyone and everything except yourself.”  He reached over and grabbed his champagne glass and took a sip, then offered it to her.  What he could and would do was put her on paper.  He gloried in it, actually.  He remembered the figure drawing classes at school and how awkward he had felt about drawing women.  He knew why: there was a part of Emily in everyone he drew and he had no idea what she actually looked like.  He couldn’t just draw someone without that connection that he felt.  Once they were married, it was easy.  He had drawn the lines and curves, the light and shadow of her body so many times now.  But it was still wonderful to be able to do so.

                Emily accepted the glass and took a swallow, “It’s not that hard.  You probably could come up with something if you tried.”  She sat up in bed and relaxed back against the pillows.  She smiled at him and he moved to lay his head on her lap and look up at her.  She felt him take her left hand and the cool metal slide over her ring finger.  “Teddy…”

                “It’s midnight now.  You’ve officially been mine for eight years.  Just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget that,” he squeezed her hand.  “Mind you, you’ve been mine for a lot longer than that really, but…” he thought he might be sounding as proprietary as a Priest and stopped himself.

                Emily looked at her hand, still held in his, “They’re opals.  Teddy, it’s beautiful.”  Her rings were all the same: slender platinum bands with stones all around them.  She had four now, including this newest addition, but usually only wore her original diamonds.

                “The stone of moonlight, some say,” he shrugged.  “You’re moonlight to me and these suit you.  They suit tonight too.”  Tonight was all about finding hidden strength and joy - at least it had been for him.  Opals were like that; light and mystery in purple-grey clouds of history.  He had never dreamed that his wife would handle herself as she had tonight.

                Emily looked out the window and didn’t say anything.  She didn’t have to, because it had all been said already.  They sat on the porch after dinner and she told him everything that had happened with Dean, so he would know and understand.  He had, for the first time, actually asked her all of the questions that had plagued him over the years.  In more ways than one, it was a relief to get it all out in the open, finally.  Belonging was not possession and Dean had never known the difference.  Now that it was over, Emily could let it go without any malice. 

                Teddy decided to speak about his conversation with Robin.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been this afternoon.  “Love, do you want another child?”  He wanted to talk to her about this, had needed to for some time.  In spite of what Dean said to her, this was the right time, he knew it.

                She looked back at him, thoughtfully, “I have thought about it, quite a lot lately.”  She pushed the dark lock of hair off his forehead and smoothed it with the tips of her fingers.  “I don’t know, really.”  She let the words land softly, before continuing, “I would give anything to have Jed back, that I know.  But, I am not sure if I really want another child.”  She had struggled with this.  A part of her did want another baby, a huge part.  But there was something in her that feared they were tempting fate.  “Are we too happy Teddy?  Is that it?”

                He shrugged, squeezing her hand again in reassurance, “Not too happy, no, I don’t think so.  But, I think that maybe we were too complacent before.  We really are extraordinarily blessed.  I know that I don’t celebrate that as often as I should, even just with you and Robin.  But…” he stopped for a moment to let it sink in, more for himself than anyone else.

                “What is it?” she said curiously.  There was something in his tone that was apprehensive and that was unlike him.

                “Love, someone said something to me, a while back, and it has been sort of stuck in my head.  I don’t agree with it, at all.  I can’t, for the life of me figure out why anyone would think it good medicine, but…” he sighed.  Daniel Longman was a psychiatrist in Toronto.  They met years ago; he lived just down the road in Rosedale.  When he wrote to him about losing their son, and Emily’s withdrawal from the pain, hoping to get some expert advice, what he heard back had shocked and puzzled him.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Emily before now, “I wrote to Longman after Jed died.  I thought that maybe this new science would shed some light on it, maybe make it easier on you.”  He looked up at Emily and saw that she looked quizzical and interested.

                “What did he say?” Emily personally thought that Longman was a quack.  She had met Freud in France during the war.  Although extremely well-read and intelligent, there was something unrealistic about his theories, at least in her mind.  She met Daniel Longman at a dinner party while they were in Toronto, but he had merely been a less articulate and louder version of his mentor.  She took another sip of champagne and waited for Teddy’s explanation.

                Teddy took a deep breath, “He said that you just needed to get pregnant again as soon as possible.  He said that your depression was caused by your ‘unfulfilled maternal longings’.”  He waited for Emily’s reaction.

                Emily snorted, ruefully, “We should take him the Miller girls to babysit and he’ll get maternal fulfillment galore!  He’s a crackpot, that’s what I think - Freud too.  It’s not all about sexuality, for heaven’s sake.  These men obviously married the wrong women and are still stuck in a Victorian maze of unfulfilled propriety.”  She shifted in bed and shook her head again, “And you were supposed to just decide this for me and go ahead with it?”

                “Apparently,” Teddy said.  “He said that you would say no, but that it was the best thing for you and I needed to just make it happen.  In my experience…  Well our experience, it does take two to tango.”  He breathed a sigh of relief to get that off his chest.  “That and our daughter wants to pick her next sibling because she wants to make sure we get someone who’ll fit in with our family dynamic.”

                At that, Emily laughed fully, “She said that?  Family dynamic?”  Sometimes Robin came out with the most amazing things.  Her vocabulary really was far beyond her years, as was her imagination.  The apple had fallen too close to the tree on that one.

                “Not exactly,” he chuckled with her.  “I believe she said that she liked being ‘In the know’ about these things, though.”  He looked appreciatively at Emily, who was sipping champagne and grinning delightfully.  Her hair was loose on her shoulders and spilled over the covers behind her.  He loved it when she didn’t braid it at night.  It was her custom to do so, because she said it annoyed her when she rolled on it in her sleep.  He loved it down, though, so he could thread his fingers through it.  He loved how it felt when her hair fell over them both when they made love.

                “And what about you?” Emily asked gently.  “What do you want?”  He had not talked about it, this time.  They had dreamed of Robin together on their honeymoon and simply let things happen once the war ended.  Now it was different.  This would be a conscious decision they would need to make.

                “I love Robin,” he said without hesitation.  “I don’t know what I would have done without her when you were ill.  Jed was special, to all of us.  But, I’m with you, really.  I don’t know if it’s necessary.”  He thought that maybe he hadn’t chosen the right words when he saw her wince.

Emily took a deep breath, “That’s a rather sterile way to put it, but I understand where you’re coming from.  I’m glad you didn’t just take Longman’s advice, though.”  Boy, was she ever!  If anything, being pregnant made it harder for her to get a grip on things.  She always felt so insulated from the world, like the child inside her was.  It was difficult to be creative and extroverted in her life and her work.

                “What if… what if we just see what happens?” Teddy offered.  “I, for one, am willing to tempt fate once more if it is in the cards for us.”  He wanted another opportunity to paint her like that too, but he didn’t say that.

                Emily agreed with him.  “That sounds like the best of both worlds.  Predestination is something I do believe in.”  She slid down beside him in bed, “Can we take Robin to Paris this fall?” she asked.

                “Sure,” he nodded.  “It’s high time she travelled a bit.  Venice would be nice too; I love Venice in the fall.”  He slid his hands down her back, “You’re sure?”

                “I’m sure,” she said gently, moving to kiss him.  This is what she wanted.  This is what she needed.  This was who Dean could never be to her.

 

 


	32. "Genius"

_“Not long ago they criticized._

_The genius only wrote._

_And now they listen spellbound_

_With lumps caught in their throats.”_

_\- “Genius” – Jimmy Buffet_

                The Kent family had a very productive summer.  Robin discovered the German _Lieder_ and her father finished working on his fall exhibition.  He decided to shift his emphasis away from paint to sketch work.  The majority of the exhibition was taken from the drawings he sent to Emily during the war.  Emily wrote her first poem following the death of her son.  It took her nearly eight months to do so.  The results staggered her husband.

                She usually didn’t show Teddy her works in progress, any more than he showed her his.  They both just did what they did in isolation and were then treated to the joy of each other’s finished products.  On this occasion, though, she felt like he should be the first one to read it.  _Prometheus_ _in Exile_.  She sat, still and silent, as he read it by their fire one night in August.  She watched as the flames danced on the hearth and reflected in a warm glow against his skin.  She watched his dark eyes course from line to line, sometimes stopping and going back to something, and then continuing on.

                Finally, he lowered the page and looked at her in disbelief, “Did you really write this?”  He knew she had.  He knew it was a foolish question to ask, but he couldn’t help himself.  This was not the poetry of the Emily he knew, nor was it something he completely understood from a literary standpoint.  “Emily, my God…”

                She let herself breathe again, “I had to ask you to read it first.  It’s very…  Well, it’s a lot like your drawings, I think.  They’re so personal – the shapes, the shading… I tried to echo that.”  She looked up at him, “What do you think?”

                Teddy lifted the paper up, “’The seduction of light by pain’?  Christ woman…”  He raised his hands in confusion, “I don’t even know what to say to you.  I’ve never read anything so dense with emotion before.”  He looked up at her slowly, “Where did this come from?”

                Emily stared at the fire for a moment, then spoke quietly, “I suppose it’s the culmination of a lot of things, really.  The idea of poetry about mythology has intrigued me for some time.  It seems like the war was a good foil for it.  Some of the lines are things I didn’t use in my articles, some of them come from my journals, some just…came.”  She looked up at him and saw that the crease in his forehead had deepened as he looked at the paper in his hand again, “Is it too much, or…”

                He stood up and paced the room for a moment and finally stood in front of the da Vinci sketch that hung on the wall over their sideboard.  He looked at the pen strokes of the master thoughtfully.  It was an original, as was all of the artwork in their home.  He believed that you had to own what the artist himself had touched to truly appreciate the work.  He traced the line of a shoulder in the air in front of the sketch and then turned to her, “May I borrow this for tonight?  I want to try something.”

                She nodded, “Of course.  What…”

                He held up his hand to silence her, “Just give me a few hours.  I need to work something out.”  With that, he strode off to his studio with the paper in hand.  He returned a few moments later to ask, “Do you have the original?  The one you wrote out by hand?”  He wanted to see the lines she had drawn with her pen.

                “Of course,” Emily said.  “Do you want the clean copy or the working copy?”       

                “Both,” Teddy nodded and hurried back to his studio.

                Emily climbed the stairs to their room, thoughtfully.  What on earth was this about?  She found the Jimmy book that held this poem and the others in the series that were not yet finished.  She also found the fair copy on a sheet of foolscap and carried them back down to her husband.  When she stepped inside his studio, she saw that he had cleared off his work table and laid out a large sheet of heavy linen paper.  He was pinning the poem up on the board beside the window, so that it would be in his line of vision, but not in his way.  Emily cleared her throat to announce her arrival, but he didn’t hear her.  She touched his shoulder lightly and offered him her work, “Here.  The page is marked.  If you can try not to read the rest, that would be good.  They’re not complete yet.”

                He took the book and the sheet of paper from her without looking at them, and set them down on the table.  He turned back to her, “Stay.  Please?”    

                Her eyes widened in surprise.  He never let her watch him draw anything more than the quick little cartoons and caricatures that he made for Robin or very rough sketches made on the spur of the moment.  “Are you sure I won’t bother you?  Do you want me to sit somewhere or do something?”  Maybe he was going to paint her.  She didn’t usually have to sit for him at all, unless he needed to perfect something – he had her whole body memorized.

                Teddy shook his head once, slightly, “Not at all.  Sit where you like, do whatever you want, I just want you here, in this room.”  Then he turned to his table and picked up a stick of charcoal.

                Emily took a deep breath and moved to his book shelf.  Everything in the room had paint on it, even his books.  It didn’t matter to him if he got things dirty when he was in here.  His copy of Tennyson was decorated with blue paint, the Keats with a burnt umber.  There were art references and a dictionary on the top shelf, along with three framed photographs – one of his mother, one of her, and one of Robin – it was anomalous that he had chosen photographs, somehow.  Below it were two full shelves of sketchbooks and a pile of paper with more sketches and drawings in it.  On the shelf below that, were all of her books and some older copies of other fiction, including _The South African Farm_.  She knew these had been his father and mother’s.  She picked up the tiny volume that was _Frankenstein_ and opened it, sinking down into the red velour-covered armchair in the corner by the window.  There was a reading lamp on a small black-lacquered table and she turned it on, settling down to her book.  Once or twice, she heard her husband murmur something to himself, but it was unintelligible to her.  She watched him for a few minutes, before the monster hid under the house, and saw that his hand was moving furiously across the page.

                At some point or other, she must’ve fallen asleep.  She didn’t remember doing so, but she woke with a start when her book fell to the floor with a thump.  Emily blinked, slowly.  There were more lights on in the room now, and Teddy stood back from his table with her Jimmy book in his hands like a hymnal.  He was reading the words to himself, silently.  She uncurled her feet out from under her and stood up to stretch, kicking off her shoes as she did so.  She rolled her shoulders back and turned her head to the right, only to find herself staring at the portrait he had done of her, the one that made him famous.  She shuddered slightly.  It was like looking in a mirror that showed you your reflection from the past.  She knew that she did not look exactly like that girl any longer.  She pulled the pins out of her hair and ran her fingers through it, then tugged on a sweater of his that hung over the chair beside his desk.  She borrowed a pen and legal pad and sat back down in the armchair to write out something that she had been working over in her mind for the past few days.  The story was a brief, anecdotal little piece about a goat, a dog, and a man who thought he could fly.  She hadn’t written a short story in ages, especially something comedic.  It was high time that she did!  As she sketched out the plot that had developed over the last while, she chuckled triumphantly to herself when something neatly resolved itself and ended the story easily.

                Teddy looked over at her when he heard her laugh.  He set his pencil down precisely and just watched for a moment.  The girl who sat there and the girl who looked out at him from his canvas were the same woman, and yet they were not.  The Emily-on-the-wall was one he knew absolutely.  He had created her, poached from the original, but he made her what she needed to be.  That Emily he owned absolutely.  The Emily who sat writing in the chair was his as well, but he didn’t own her and he didn’t want to.  He knew her, but only the parts of her that she let him see.  Drawing that woman would take him a lifetime.

                He looked at his drawing carefully.  It was finished, really.  All he had to do now was adjust some of the shading, and that was best done in natural light.  He sat back on his stool and looked at it appraisingly, then at the book where she had worked out the original poem.  Some of the words she crossed out were darker and angrier than those she decided upon for the final version – those were the things he had hidden in the background of the drawing.  Her handwriting was what was important to him though, really.  There were no loops and curls in this work.  Although she wrote in cursive, as she did most times, it was very sparse and clean.  It was like seeing an original piece of art; you could see more of her in this than in the typed version he read first.  It led him to make the drawing more abrupt and linear than he might have otherwise.

                “Emily?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb her when she was at her work.

                “Hmm?” she looked up at him and smiled gently.  She was tired, but she was enjoying herself too.  Working was always enjoyable, even if it was exhausting.  It was nice to work here with him, for a change.  She had never worked with anyone before, but this was comfortable, and she had never expected it to be.

                “Do you want to see?”  He was a bit apprehensive about this.  Trying to put her words into pictures was something he had never really tried to do before.  When he read her books he had an idea of what the characters might look like, but had never attempted to draw them.  The poems and stories that he had illustrated in the past were not of this ilk.  They were straight, fanciful fiction and spoke of the Island that they both knew and loved, and the wonders of nature that they immersed themselves in, by choice.  This poem was a reflection of her experience, of her feeling.  It and the da Vinci had inspired him to try something new.  He excelled at portraiture, but when he had no real model, only words, he needed to interpret the feeling behind it, more so than the actual description.

                Emily stood and set the paper down on the chair.  She shut off the light and padded over, her bare feet making no sound on the smooth hardwood floor.  She came to stand beside him and then looked at the drawing he had made.  It was like his front line sketch work with characterization – the figure in the center had more depth and dimension of character than his smaller sketches showed.  The pain and the anguish were obvious, as was the emotional suffering.  The story of overcoming adversity was there too, in the trees and the sky – delicate and beautiful against the focal points of horror.  “Teddy, it’s…” she shook her head, “It’s exactly what I was thinking.  It’s what I imagined when I wrote it only…” Emily looked at him in disbelief, “I don’t imagine things in this same way – never this concrete or focused.  It’s always more ephemeral and foggy.  This is clear, precise and exact.”  It was also the same raw, powerful emotion that she wanted from the poem.

                He put his arm around her, and smiled when she laid her dark head against his shoulder, “Would you be willing to try something with me?”  The idea he had was something he had thought of before.  When he had illustrated her work in the past, she had liked what he did.  “Would you be willing to let me do this for the rest of the poems?”  He looked down at her in question.  Somehow, this was a natural extension of who they were, he thought.

                “Really?  You would like to do that?” she was more than slightly surprised.  “Well,” her mind whirred with something else, “I have a better idea.  What if you read my rough draft of something, sketch it, then let me edit my work based on yours, and vice versa?  I think the connection would be deeper that way.”  She turned to her husband in anticipation.

                “Absolutely,” he nodded.  “It might be hard on you, though.”  He really didn’t want to interfere with what he felt was perfection in poetry.  He didn’t want her to change anything about her work because of him and then regret it.

                Emily shrugged, “These are hard to write, regardless.  A lot harder than I ever expected.”  Free verse had never intrigued her until now.  She never realized how difficult it was to write formlessly.  The structure of rhythm and rhyme had been her crutch for so long that it was difficult to leave it behind.  But, she knew she was ready.  “It actually might be easier if we were both in it.  If you want to try, I’m up for it.”

                Teddy hugged her again, this time standing up beside her.  “I want to, but not tonight.  This light is hard on my eyes, and you are exhausted.”  He shut out a few lights and then led her out of the room and up the stairs.  

                They looked in on Robin together.  Her feet were sticking out of the blankets and her fingers spread out and moving slightly on the pillow that must be a piano in her dream.  Her school books were on the floor beneath her newest Schumann score.  It was obvious what took importance in Robin’s world.


	33. "Say"

The wedding invitation came in the mail the following day.  Kenneth Ford and Rilla Blythe were going to be married in November, in Montreal.  Teddy, Emily, and Robin were all invited, as were the Millers.

Perry won his election and was completely immersed in the new role of Premier that he would assume in September, so the newly-elected Miller family elected to send their regrets.

The Kents were thoroughly excited for the opportunity.  They planned a trip to Europe for September and October and extended it so that their return would coincide with the wedding and Teddy’s exhibition in Montreal.  After a tour that took them to the galleries and salons in Paris, and allowed them to spend languorous weeks in the Venetian sunshine, they returned to Canada, eagerly anticipating both events.

Teddy’s Montreal home was smaller than the one in Toronto, but with no less-prestigious an address.  It was in a new neighborhood on the outskirts of Montreal – Mount Royal.  The brain-child of planner Frederick Todd, the suburb was created and linked to Montreal proper by an under-the-mountain rail line.  When Teddy purchased the home, in 1912, it was brand new and off the beaten path.  It was now a sought-after address for those who wished to escape the hustle and bustle of the big city, yet remain close to arts and culture.

Emily had only been to the house once before.  As they rode in the motor cab from the quay, Teddy was explaining the city to Robin.  Emily was not completely unfamiliar with Montreal, but she had only been there once before, shortly before they were married.

\------

_“Even if your hands are shaking_   
_And your faith is broken_   
_Even as the eyes are closing_   
_Do it with a heart wide open_   
_Say what you need to say.”_

_\- John Mayer – “Say”_

Teddy woke up one morning, alone and cold in his brand new bed, in his brand new house, in a city he had lived and worked in for years, and felt unbearably lonely.  He looked at the book in his hands – it was Emily’s, of course.  He never read _The Moral of the Rose_ when it was first published.  He wanted to distance himself from everything he couldn’t have.  Not likely!

After the wedding-that-wasn’t to Ilse, he travelled a lot, trying to sort through what had happened.  He wasn’t sad about it, which seemed a bit odd to him.  Shouldn’t one be sad when one was jilted at the alter?  He figured so, but he just wasn’t.  Angry?  Perhaps annoyed would be closer.  Embarrassed?  Yes, that was really at the heart of it.  Confused?  He didn’t understand women; he never really had.  How could they cry over the slightest things one minute and then be determined and immovable in the face of hardship?  He could deal with temper tantrums and silences, but he could not deal with tears, that had always been his downfall.  As a boy, when his mother glared at him and spoke harshly, he could accept her criticisms for what they were.  It was when she cried and told him she was disappointed in him that he caved immediately to whatever she asked and felt a nagging sense of unworthiness.  The only woman who had never cried in front of him without a very good reason was Emily.  Was he relieved that the wedding hadn’t actually happened?  Well…

Emily.  What on earth must she think of this whole debacle with Ilse?  He really wished he knew.  A part of him thought that proposing to Ilse might force her hand, might make her tell him that she really loved him and that he couldn’t marry another.  Of course that hadn’t happened and was never going to happen.  He would have to be content to have her as a friend, but really, he didn’t even have that any longer.  He wanted to talk to her as they once had.  Friendship was something that had been plentiful in his childhood and was curiously absent now that he had achieved the success he dreamed of then.  He and Emily used to spend hours - days really - together, and no one understood him like she did.  Ilse and Perry would hurtle themselves into madcap adventures and follies, and it always seemed that he and Emily were playing catch-up.  But they had been together, they understood one another.  He missed that.

Truly, if he were being honest with himself, he just missed Emily.  He didn’t really have time to be honest with himself, though.  His job at the College of Art was challenging and out of the realm of his real expertise.  He didn’t want to be a disciplinarian and pusher of paper, but that was what he was, more often than not.  He tried to paint as much as he could, but it was harder and harder to fit it into his schedule.  When he didn’t paint, or at least draw, he felt like he was being stifled, like some vital part of him was being smothered.

Then his mother arrived from the Island.  He wanted her there, make no mistake.  Mother was really a delightful little gem of a woman, if she let you see it.  She didn’t let many see it.  She was a changed person, after the wedding, and seemed calmer and less anxious about everything.  When she explained about his father, he finally understood where all of her grief had come from.  He knew she was ill, but her death was still a shock to him.  He had never really thought about being an orphan, but that was what he was now.  He was glad that she was at peace, but missed her dreadfully.  Even though he had not seen her as much as he should have while he was in school, she had always been there.

At the end of her life she had said something puzzling to him, “Forgive her, she didn’t know.”  Of course, she had meant that his father should forgive _her._ Hadn’t she?

Then there was his father’s estate.  He never thought much about his father, but his mother’s will made reference to unfinished business with his father’s family.  Not a small matter at all.  That took the better part of two months to settle.

When it was all over, he realized that he was finally in a position to do what he had always wanted.  He had never known his father.  David Kent was just a name to him, but the man had passed down a legacy that was his liberation.  He no longer had to kowtow to the Board at the College to keep his position and develop his reputation.  _The Smiling Girl_ had given him the recognition he needed to exhibit his work when and where he wanted to, and he now had the means to support himself without a regular job.  He could go back to painting, full-time.  He could live as he had always dreamed of doing.  He negotiated a part-time teaching position with the College that would start with the new school year, and bought a new house in an area just outside of town.  He should have been happy.  Everything should have been perfect.  It wasn’t.

Every night he stood in his dining room and looked at the empty table and empty chairs.  He walked into his immaculate living room and saw the perfect arrangement of furniture, the carefully chosen paintings on the wall, and the carefully purchased books on the shelf.  But it was all created for someone else – none of this was really _his_.  His studio was his only sanctuary.  Here he had his books and his easel and his paints.  He could exist there and pretend that he wasn’t alone.  He could work and pretend that _she_ was just in another room working on her stories and poems.  He could pretend that he would go upstairs to their room and find _her_ waiting for him.  But it was all pretend.

There were other women in his life.  There had been consistently since he left Blair Water.  He was reasonably attractive – at least he had been told that.  He had his modicum of talent and celebrity, and with his inheritance he was now a bit of a catch.  He enjoyed talking to some of them, for a time, but grew bored and indifferent when they didn’t give him his space.  He liked freedom and time to work.  With his schedule at the College, dates and rendezvous had to be on his terms.  Most women did not like that, when it came down to it.  They all seemed to think they should have carte blanche to his life once he spent the night with them.  He did draw the line there, he always had.  No woman had ever been in _his_ bed, even if he had been in hers.  That place was reserved for something and someone else.

One night he finally sat down and read her first book – cover to cover, in one sitting.  It was Emily, to the core.  It was the Emily he pretended with in his mind, and the Emily that had once really been with him.  He woke that morning knowing that he had to try, one more time. He went over every conversation he ever had with her and realized that there was a distinct possibility that she had no idea that he loved her.  She might not realize that he fell in love with her that night in the Old John House and had adored her from afar ever since, or that he had been too prideful and ignorant to go to her earlier and just make her love him back.  Perhaps even his letter had been unclear.  He was never one for words, after all.  He could not go on like this, just not knowing.  He had to try one more time, he had to say the words to her in person and hear her answer.

So he took a train from Montreal to the Island that very morning.  He made no plans, told no one where he was going or how long he would be gone.  He didn’t really know himself.  He just left and went to her.

And, wonder of wonders, she was there.  Not just at New Moon, as he felt she always should be, but there with him, in body and in spirit.  She loved him.  Now he could live and breathe.  It felt to him as if he had inhaled that night of the snow storm and held his breath ever since, waiting for this release.

They stood in the garden of New Moon for hours that night talking, holding one another, and just watching each other silently.  This was very possibly a dream, and neither one of them wanted to wake up.  When the dawn came, and the reality was as wonderful as it had been in moonlight, they were both ravenous.  Emily led him to the New Moon kitchen and fed him bacon and eggs and homemade jam on toast.  He never knew she could cook.  (He supposed that he should have – the Murray Aunts would have made certain of this.)  Jimmy Murray joined them for breakfast and greeted him as if he took that particular seat every morning, asked him about the weather, and then departed to work in the barn.  It was so easy it was surreal.  He had always liked Jimmy Murray.

Enter the aforementioned New Moon Aunts.  They were not surreal, they were horrifyingly real!  Elizabeth Murray was an enormous woman – not physically, but in her bearing and presence.  A disparate part of him thought that he would like to paint her, as strong and confident as she was, yet somehow alone.  The other part was petrified.  Emily seemed to take no notice and simply announced that he had come home to see her.

The ensuing conversation was odd.  They spoke about him as if he were not present, at least her Aunt did.  Emily sat beside him, quietly, while Aunt Elizabeth lectured her on proper deportment and behavior with ‘young men’.  Her hand held his under the table.  Aunt Laura just looked at him – he had never seen eyes like hers in his life.  They were giant, cornflower blue saucers, incredibly expressive and observant.  They were not angry, nor were they frightening.  But somehow, he was more afraid of them than Elizabeth Murray’s words.  They bade him pay heed to what he was doing here.  He knew that if he hurt Emily, it would be those eyes that he would remember and reckon with.  He and Emily finally escaped to go for a walk, narrowly avoiding having Laura accompany them as a chaperone.

They strolled along the Tomorrow Road and he took her hand in his again.  Amid everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, that was real.  “Emily, please be my wife?”  He spoke the words without thinking; he just knew they had to be said.  “I can’t live without you any longer.”

“Yes,” Emily said, “I will be your wife.  I haven’t lived in years, ever since you left.  It will be nice to really feel again.”

And that was that.  They were engaged.  He realized that he didn’t have a ring to give her, belatedly.  She didn’t care.  She asked where he was staying and he realized he wasn’t staying anywhere; he had come to her straight from the train station.  She volunteered the spare room at New Moon.

It was all so neat, tidy, and perfectly logical.  Even the Aunts had calmed down by the time they returned to the house.  A real engagement was something to celebrate.  Thank heavens they put so little stock in material things that the lack of a piece of jewelry was not even remarked upon.  Teddy resolved that the eventual jewel would be enough to be remarkable.

He kissed Emily for the first time in the garden.  If he had kissed her the night before, he couldn’t remember anything about it.  That was all just a blur.  What he did remember was walking outside with Emily after dinner and finding her instantly in his arms, once they were out of sight of the house.  Kissing her was only logical and right and something that he had done all his life – or should have.  Her kissing him back was unbelievably, illogically, and wonderfully perfect.

After two days of distracting and delightful time with his fiancé, Teddy came back to reality.  He no longer lived on the Island and had left his house and his job without any notice.  This might pose a bit of a problem.  When he explained it all to Emily, she had, again quite practically, told him to go back to Montreal and settle everything, and then come back and marry her.  That was a good idea, but he did not want to leave her.  Something about being separated from her for even one day or night was too much right now.  It was too new, and too close to the old loneliness to be tested just yet.  He wanted her in his arms and beside him.  He had never wanted anyone that close.  Again, she made a very reasonable suggestion that she accompany him to Montreal.

What should have been a large hurdle was only a small curve in the road.  Emily made arrangements to stay with a writer friend and they left for Montreal the next day.  The Aunts barely said a word.  After all, when Emily set her mind to something, it happened.  And really, marrying Teddy Kent was just about the most reasonable thing that she had set her mind to in recent years.  Although Elizabeth Murray did not admit to believing in anything other than God, she secretly believed that something fateful had set those two on a path destined for each other.  She would have to call it divine intervention, she supposed – anything else would be sacrilegious and very un-Murray.

When they arrived in Montreal, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do first.  He would have to go to the College and tender his resignation.  That would be a bit awkward, considering how gracious they had been about lightening his teaching load for the coming year.  It would also be awkward because he knew he had missed several juried exhibitions over the past week.  He wouldn’t be leaving on a positive note and that was certain.  He wasn’t exactly sure where they would live, but he knew that he did not need to work in Montreal now.  Taking Emily away from her Island permanently was not something he particularly wanted to do.  They could and would travel, but that was not a home.  He wanted and needed a home with her.  The Aunts had made it clear that they did not want her to leave, but living at New Moon with a bevy of Murrays wasn’t a completely satisfactory proposition.  Where that left them, he did not know.  He wasn’t sure of anything except Emily’s hand in his as he helped her out of the cab at his house.

It was a beautiful afternoon; the shadows were lengthening on the mountain and birdsong was louder than the sound of the town around them.  Although the homes were new, many of the old trees had been left behind to provide shade, privacy, and enhance the feeling of removal from the chaos of the city.  It was cool, but not cold, and the spring flowers were in full bloom in Teddy’s small garden.  Emily stopped to admire the peonies in particular.  He had a violent fuchsia double that would fascinate Cousin Jimmy.  Teddy looked rather bemused when she mentioned that on their way in the front door.  She recognized that look as the one that meant he had no idea what she was talking about.

Emily thought that his house was really quite delightful; it wasn’t at all like the Tansy Patch.  It was a grey stone structure with a sprawling porch and clever arched windows with details over them that looked like odd little eyebrows.  The house wasn’t symmetrical or even, but organic and whimsical instead.  Emily loved houses with personality, and this one had it.  This was a home that wanted and needed to live and breathe.  It didn’t look totally new, because of the construction, but it didn’t look like Teddy had really lived here yet, either.  It was rather large, for one person, she observed, as he led her through it.  There was a parlor and a conservatory, a formal dining room and an eat-in kitchen as well.  Teddy had an office and a huge studio at the back of the main floor and these were the only two rooms that bore the stamp of his personality.  She asked polite questions and smiled when he mentioned the things that had been his mother’s.  There was a slight sense of discomfort between them here – something that they both felt unfamiliar with.

Teddy was at war with himself.  This was the woman he was going to marry, the woman he had loved as long as he knew what love was.  But, they weren’t married yet.  As much as the propriety of the New Moon Aunts could be laughed at and considered absurdly antiquated, he did realize that much.  Something in him knew that he could not be with her before they were married.  He excused himself to make a phone call – a foolish errand; he didn’t need to make dinner reservations.  He did need to take a deep breath and calm down.  When he returned to the back porch, where he had left Emily, she was not there.  He took the kitchen stairs up and found her standing at his bedroom window, looking out and down the mountain at the town that spread below them.

Emily heard him come up behind her and stepped back into the circle of his arms, “Beautiful,” she whispered.  She shut her eyes and leaned against him, trying to sense what was making him feel uncomfortable.  It was obvious that something was.  Touching each other was something that had made them both feel more at ease lately.  She made an effort to connect with him that way to bridge the gap.  He had bolted like a cat when they were looking out at the garden and she mentioned how beautiful everything looked in the spring.

Teddy grasped for something to respond with, and settled for a bland comment about the house, “Yes, the lot is quite nice.  I thought that when I bought it.”  What else was he supposed to say?  Having her in his arms was delightful, but the temptation was far too great.  He started to say something more about his architect.

“Shh…” Emily made the sound softly.  She didn’t want him to talk, she just wanted to stand here and be with him.  She felt the tension in his hands and turned toward him.  There could be no more misunderstandings between them.  She had to find out what was wrong.  “What is it?” she whispered.

He shrugged and looked around him, trying to find something to distract himself from where he was and who he was with.  Elizabeth Murray would not approve of this at all!  He almost wished she would walk in right now and box his ears for even thinking the things he was thinking.

Emily tilted her head to the side quizzically to look at him.  He was scowling as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.  “I meant that it is beautiful to be here with you alone and quiet,” she decided to explain her comment.  “It felt like we were in a vortex of something we couldn’t control at home.  Any minute and we’d get pulled into a morass of menus and matrimonial minutia.”  She grinned at her own alliteration, knowing that Teddy wouldn’t think she was just trying to be clever.

He didn’t, he just kept scowling to himself.

She let go of his hands and turned back to the window, smoothing the linen curtains back with her hand, absently.  Maybe having her here was not what he really wanted.  The Island had a way of pulling you back in time, and now that they were back in his real world, maybe marrying ‘the girl back home’ wasn’t quite what Frederick Kent, the renowned artist, really wanted or needed.  She was not cultured or sophisticated like the women from Montreal were.  “Sometimes I wish that we didn’t have to get married.”  She had her own reasons for the statement, but it would give him the chance to take the escape route if he needed it.

That brought a reaction from an astounded Teddy that was completely involuntary, “What the hell are you talking about?”  If anything, he wanted to call up the local Presbyterian minister and get it done tonight.  Was she saying she wanted to call this off?  He thought he understood Emily.

She shook her head gently, letting the curtain fall back into place.  Her heart heaved a sigh of relief.  Whatever it was, he wasn’t having second thoughts about their union.

When she turned to look at him, he felt it wash over him like a wave.  She smiled the smile he had painted so many times.  Her dark hair was like black ink on heavy, dense, linen paper, silhouetted against the curtains.  Her grey violet eyes told him that she wasn’t walking or wanting away - far from it.  The woman in front of him was the real thing, and all of his paintings were just an attempt to recreate her in two-dimensional form.

“I just mean that we shouldn’t have to _get_ married, we should just _be_ married.  It all seems so trivial.  All I want is what we have right now, this very minute.  I want you and me and time to make them us.”  She looked at him hopefully.

He shuddered, “Emily…”

She saw something almost violent pass over him and took a deep breath, “I can live anywhere.  If you need to live here, that’s fine.  I will want to go home sometimes, but I want to be where you are all of the time.”  She had never thought about leaving the Island, not seriously anyway.  She had considered the opportunity in New York years ago, but that was not this.  That would never have been permanent.  She knew that it wouldn’t matter where she was now, as long as he was with her.  “I don’t need some convoluted ceremony and dresses and dishes and…”

“Shh…” Teddy made the sound this time, then took her into his arms and kissed her.  It was alright again.  He did understand Emily, as he always had.

She lifted her eyes to his sometime later and smoothed her hand gently across his cheek.  “Will this be our bedroom?”  She hoped so.  It seemed perverse that they should be kissing in a room that was not theirs.

“It’s all ours,” he said quietly.  “But yes, if you want it to be.”  He looked down at her and smiled, “You gave me a bit of a scare there.  I thought you were having second thoughts.”  He shook his head slightly, “I should have known better.  I was thinking about finding a church tonight.”

Emily shook her head, derisively, “We can’t elope.  I promised Ilse, that and it isn’t something that Murrays do, normally.”  She thought briefly about her parents, and then shrugged, “You’d never dare face the Aunts if we did it without them.”

“I don’t really want to elope, but I also don’t really want you to leave here tonight.”  He said the words softly.  This was the first time he had the opportunity to tell her what he felt, and he almost bungled it.  They had said there would be no more secrets, no more waiting to say things they wanted to.  Well, there it was.  His life would never be his own in the same way again.

Emily had never heard this from a man before, at least not in so many words.  She knew what went on between married couples; at least she knew the physiology of it.  She had grown up on a farm, and none of it was a foreign concept.  Thinking of that between her and Teddy was not shocking, really, just oddly unnerving.  She certainly wasn’t averse to the idea; it just made her feel a bit self-conscious.  “Oh…” she looked away.  The reality of where they were and what he was undoubtedly thinking was all of a sudden clear to her.

He pulled her back to him, “Emily, don’t.  It’s me.”  He didn’t want her to be afraid of this so he used her words, “It’s you and me and it will be us.”  That was the most beautiful way he had ever heard anyone say it.  Not surprising, coming from Emily.  He knew that he had to make it beautiful for her, no matter what.

She shook her head and shut her eyes, “I’ve never… well…”  She could feel her heart beating faster.

“It’s alright,” Teddy said quietly, rejoicing inside that she had answered that question without him having to ask it.  There had been the threat of ghosts.  Emily had been engaged before; it wasn’t impossible.  He was glad there would be none for her and that his were firmly exorcised.  He hugged her close to him and held her for a few moments.

He cleared his throat formally – a sound worthy of the best New Moon chaperone.  Enough was enough, at least until their wedding night.  “We need dinner,” he stated matter-of-factly.  They needed to get out of this room, now.  “Married or not, we need food.  Would you care to go out, my dear wife-to-be?”

Emily seized the opportunity to release the tension, “Yes, absolutely.”

Teddy pulled his car out of the garage and they drove toward town in silence.  It was companionable, but there was still some tension between them.  Emily decided that she should be honest with him, “Actually that wasn’t true.”  She made the statement, referring to her acceptance of his dinner invitation.

Teddy signaled a turn with his left hand and then shot a quick look at her as they pulled up in front of the restaurant, “What wasn’t?”  He shut off the car and turned to face her.  The fact that she was here with him was still cause for wonder.  He half imagined waking up from this delightful dream to find himself standing in front of an easel with an imperfect Emily on the canvas.  But for now, his real, perfect, flawless muse was in front of him, living, breathing, and smiling at him with a glint of devilry in her changeable eyes.

“What I said, about wanting to go out?” she set her lips together in an expression that she knew was about as far from Murray as could be imagined.  Sometimes even Emily had to remind herself that she was not all Murray and that the Starr portion had a great deal to do with who she really was.  “I liked your first offer.”

Now that they were safely in public, Teddy could relax and respond to her, “Really?  The one about the minister, or the one about staying home?”  He knew exactly which one she meant when she reached over to kiss him.

\-----

                “Mum, look!” Robin pointed with excitement at the gates of McGill as they drove past.

                Emily smiled at her daughter and at her husband over their child’s head.  They were almost home.  It would be nice to sit somewhere for a moment.  Their trip had been wonderful and relaxing, but sometimes trying to be quiet in a foreign space was not what she needed.  She wanted familiarity and order, schedule and routine, at least for a while.  Paris was beautiful, rebuilding after the war and regaining its former luxuriant debauchery.  She had a wardrobe of the latest from Chanel and a bottle of something that Coco had told her not to open until Christmas.  It was either absinthe or perfume, and either one would be a treat.  Her friend was in a frenetic, panicked phase of growth with her company.  The death of her paramour and partner had hurt her more than she would ever let anyone know.  Emily could see it though, in every impatient, unsettled move she made.  She wished her friend could find the love and rest that she so deserved.


	34. "Thank You For the Music"

_“Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk_   
_She says I began to sing long before I could talk_   
_And I've often wondered, how did it all start?_   
_Who found out that nothing can capture a heart_   
_Like a melody can?_   
_Well, whoever it was, I'm a fan.”_

_\- Abba – “Thank You For the Music”_

                Robin Kent had spent a great deal of her time in Europe in front of a keyboard.  While in Paris, her father had the idea that he should take his daughter to the Paris Conservatory.  Teddy knew that Robin was a talented child.  He also knew that neither he nor Emily could help her develop that talent.  They bought her all of the books and music she asked for and took her to lessons in Charlottetown at the music school there; Aunt Laura had given her notice when Robin turned four – she couldn’t play half of the things Robin wanted to learn.  She had her grandmother’s piano at home and played regularly in church.  In fact, she played all of the Sunday services now.  It was the best way to get her to attend and stay attentive (although Emily knew that her daughter rarely listened to the sermon, just memorized all of the hymns while she was waiting to play).

                So, they had ascended the steps into an unfamiliar world – unfamiliar to Teddy, at least.  He had asked for a piano lesson for his daughter and been rewarded with several coarse words, until _she_ walked in.  A former student and itinerant teacher, Nadia Boulanger was well-respected at the Conservatoire and agreed to hear Robin play without a second thought.  Robin had not needed to prepare, she just asked the estimable woman what she wanted to hear.  Teddy sat in the auditorium for three hours, listening and not hearing, watching his daughter transform into someone else.  Here, Robin was not treated as a child or a curiosity.  This woman treated her as a musician, pointing out her mistakes and asking questions about her interpretations without fear of reprimand.  Robin gave her the respect she deserved and learned more in those hours than she had in months of study on her own.

                Teddy knew now that his daughter needed this kind of education on a regular basis.  She needed to learn from the best in the world, if only to join them in the not-too-distant future.  The lady herself took him aside and rebuked him for it, as a matter of fact.

                “That child… She needs to be taught!” She shook her head in the French way and gripped his arm tightly, “She needs to be guided to the right music.  She needs to listen.  Take her to the opera, the symphony, anything… But find someone to teach her.”  She had turned abruptly and left the room, only nodding to Robin as she passed.

                The director of the Conservatoire spoke to him about enrolling her there.  Teddy couldn’t make that kind of decision without Emily, though.  Robin made it for him.

                “I want to study in America,” she said, resolutely, when he asked her about attending the Conservatory.  “North America, not Europe is where the new music is happening.  I can learn Bach and Mozart there too, but Paris doesn’t have the future.”  She then turned to the window of the cab and remarked on the fact that her mother looked a lot better in the Chanel clothes than most of these Paris women.

 

 


	35. "Words"

_“They've made me feel like a prisoner_   
_They've made me feel set free_   
_They've made me feel like a criminal_   
_Made me feel like a king_   
  
_They've lifted my heart_   
_To places I'd never been_   
_And they've dragged me down_   
_Back to where I began_   
  
_Words can build you up_   
_Words can break you down_   
_Start a fire in your heart or_   
_Put it out”_

_\- Hawk Nelson – “Words”_

                Owen Ford raked his hand through his hair and looked up at Emily over his reading glasses, “Who has seen this?” he demanded.  The poem in front of him was frightening, so breathtaking that it gave him chills.  He had dreamed of writing something like this his whole life.

                “Only Teddy,” she said, and then pulled out the portfolio.  She unrolled the sketch in front of him and let him take it in.

                He shook his head and stood back from it, “I don’t know anything about art.”  He held up the poem, “And this makes me feel like I know nothing about writing either.”  They had something here, something incredibly powerful.  “Whatever you do Emily, people need to see this and read this.  They need to understand what you two saw over there.  We need to make damn sure my grandchildren never have to see it.”  His voice was vehement.  Having Emily take part in his son’s wedding was an unexpected pleasure for him.  Both Ken and Rilla wanted her and her husband to attend and he was overjoyed.  Emily had been a colleague and an inspiration for years and renewing that friendship was something that made him happy beyond words.

                Emily respected Owen Ford’s work and his comments about her own.  She met him well before she was married at an Island literature gathering – his books of stories and his poignant and acclaimed editorials were part of her library of inspiration.  She brought the mythology work with her to get his opinion before they proceeded with anything else.

                They sat down companionably in his study and she showed him the next two poems and Teddy’s accompanying sketches.  They were firmly ensconced in a lexicological battle when the door to the study opened.

                “Fleetingly?” Emily queried, looking up from her page.

                Owen shook his head, “Weakens it!  I tell you Em, adverbs are the spawn of Satan!”

                “But I want ephemeral, I want mist, fog, half-light stained with blood,” she groaned and scratched out yet another word.

                Owen turned to her, “Say that again?”  He was still as she flipped a page back to look at her husband’s sketch of an asp.  He had seen it already – nightmarish in its reality.  The next sketch was where the piece was going; Medusa, her hair cloaked and hidden, but for the golden torque that the snakes formed about her neck.  The title was bloodcurdling: _And Into the Mists of Anguish Went Death’s Lady_.

                “Mist and fog, a half-light stained with blood,” she repeated, looking up at him.  “Wait, no… a bilious half-light stained with blood.”  That was it.  He had been right, after all.  No adverbs.

                Ken shuddered, “Mustard gas,” he whispered softly.  “Damn Emily!”  He shook himself, “Mama told me to pry you two away from your literary tryst for dinner,” he looked at his father expectantly.  There were some things that were more important than food and what these two were doing was clearly something of that ilk.  “I can tell her to go ahead without you, if you like?”

                “No, no…” Owen shook himself.  “Emily, my darling wife has made her specialty, a steak that melts in your mouth.  Would you care to abandon your poetic battlefield and break bread with mere mortals?”  He offered her his arm.

_  
_


	36. "The Bridal Song"

_“This sweet-smelling room, decked for love,_   
_now takes you in, away from the splendour._   
_Faithfully guided, draw now near_   
_to where the blessing of love shall preserve you!_   
_Triumphant courage, love so pure,_   
_joins you in faith as the happiest of couples!”_

_\- Wagner/Petrucci – “The Bridal Song” from Lohengrin_

                Robin sat with her chin resting on her folded arms on the hard wooden pew.  If it weren’t for the view, this would be a decidedly awful experience!  The church was beautiful.  The groom, Ken, was Catholic, apparently.  Robin wasn’t sure what that meant, but if it meant churches like this, she was going to have to speak to the preacher at the Blair Water Presbyterian about making some changes.  Robin felt a chill of horror go up her spine as it happened again.  “Oh God,” she whispered, “Please show that man the f-sharp?”

                The priest who was the organist was slaughtering the Mendelssohn!  Poor man wasn’t rolling in his grave, he was gouging out his ears!  Robin winced again.  Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions, but this was not going to be if that man kept playing.  If you had to endure this to get married, Robin thought that old-maid-dom was a fine option!  Although her parents, who were standing in for the bride’s brother and his wife in the rehearsal because they were late getting in from Charlottetown, had mentioned staying out of trouble, they had not said to specifically stay in her seat.  Robin stood and made her way to the front of the church where the main organ keyboard was.  She let herself into the stall and stood next to the man in black silently.  She watched his hands and feet carefully.

                Robin Kent had played an organ before, not one like this, but there had been one in the little church in Venice that they visited when they were on holiday last month.  It was just like a piano with more to do.  She looked at the stop settings and shook her head.  This should make the building shake and instead he was playing it with all high reeds.  When they stopped again to make some changes to the position of the wedding party, Robin stepped forward. 

                “Excuse me,” she said, in French, “I think it’s my turn.”  She looked at the taciturn monk with deliberate seriousness, “I’m with the wedding party?”

                The man muttered something rather coarse in French and turned back to the keyboard.

                Robin shook her head, “Okay, be rude about it.  But, I really don’t give a damn; someone has to play the right notes.”  She sat down beside him and skooched him over, like she did Bean sometimes at church.  He smelled a bit like sour milk and dust, she thought. 

                The preoccupied man was not expecting her to do this and slid off the hard organ bench, down the two steps of the elevated platform, and onto the marble tile floor directly in front of a statue of St. Francis.  His consternation was only surpassed by his surprise and his desperate attempt to reorder his robe to cover his bony legs.

                Robin saw the priest motion to begin the processional again and she yanked on the main stops and what she had discerned must be the biggest pipes.  Forget Mendelsohn, these folks deserved Wagner!  They were Islanders, after all, and Cousin Jimmy always said that someday the world would realize just how important the little red spec in the Atlantic was.  It felt like a good time to show them.

                The sound came out of nowhere, vibrating first in upper reeds, then horns, then…  Robin shut her eyes, smiled and condensed the orchestral score on the staff that rolled across her mind.  Lohengrin was one of her favorite operas and it was rare that she ever got the chance to use it.  It seemed appropriate here.  She continued to process Elsa to the cathedral happily, to meet her beloved.

                Anne Blythe’s eyes flew wide open.  “Dear God…” she whispered.  She had seen the tiny, red-headed child make her way to the organ, but thought she was just having a look around.  These events were not particularly child friendly.  She looked over at her daughter, quickly.  Rilla had been practically in tears over this whole affair all day.  Nothing had gone right!  First was the smoked salmon for the reception that had arrived definitively ‘off’, then her bridesmaids dresses that were an acerbic spearmint green instead of the deep forest that she wanted, and finally the music that had made her want to cry.  There were tears in her eyes now, but they were not of sadness.

                Rilla looked up at Ken, “That’s what I wanted,” she said softly.  “That’s what I want to hear.”

                Emily grabbed her husband’s arm and squeezed hard, then pointed to Robin; she knew he couldn’t hear anything that was being played.  (He was the lucky one – at least up to this point in the ceremony.)  Then she hurried over to where the organist was speaking loudly to the priest and gesturing at Robin, holding an injured ankle.  As the priest moved to grab Robin’s arm, Teddy touched his shoulder.

                “Let her be,” he ordered.  There was no brooking the authority in his voice.  He turned to Ken and Rilla, and their parents, who had all come up beside him.  Heedless of the sound his daughter was conjuring from the organ, he said, “I’m sorry about all of this.  She’s just fascinated by this sort of thing.  I’ll ask her to stop.”  He looked apologetically at all of them.

                Ken shook his head, “No!”  He turned to the priest, “That is our organist.  She plays or we call the whole thing off.”  His wife-to-be had been inconsolable this morning.  Nothing was going right and he felt horrible about it all. 

They were only having the wedding in Montreal because of his father’s family and their friends.  By rights, he and Rilla should be getting married at the Glen church by the Reverend Meredith, not here at Notre Dame.  His dad was Catholic, but he didn’t really care one way or the other.  If this little girl made her happy, he would make sure that she played.  Another part of him, the part that had grudgingly attended piano lessons for six miserable years, realized that this child was not just playing games with this.  This was pure talent.

                The priest and Owen Ford were having a heated discussion now, mostly in French.  Emily shut her eyes in embarrassment.  She knew that Robin was a far better musician, but she also knew that her daughter should have never done what she had.  Regardless of the opinions of the others, there would be Coventry for this.  Sometimes she did not like being half Murray!

                The piece ended triumphantly and Robin took a deep breath.  She licked her lips in anticipation.  The g minor would sound delicious on this.  She opened her eyes to change the stop settings, and saw the crowd of people around her.  Robin realized that she had probably interrupted this practice wedding.  “Sorry,” she said apologetically.  She saw the look in her mother’s eyes and knew there would be penance to pay for this.  It had been worth it, though.  She looked over at the organist, who was now sitting on a pew, the erstwhile Dr. Blythe examining his ankle cursorily.  She picked up the score on the stand and took his pencil in hand.  She quickly notated the accidental that he had missed repeatedly and marked in a fingering that would solve the messy technique in the right hand.  She stood up and walked over to him, “Here,” she said quietly.  “Try what I suggested and practice it some more.  It’ll get better.  Sorry about your ankle.”  Robin looked at the doctor sheepishly, “Shall I get some ice?”  That was what Bandy would’ve done.

                Gilbert Blythe barely kept from laughing out loud.  The tiny red-headed gamin in front of him reminded him of his wife so much!  He gritted his teeth and tried not to smile, “No, that won’t be necessary.  He will make a full recovery.  It’s just bruised,” he nodded to the man and stood up, unable to resist the urge to pat Robin’s head gently.  “Lovely playing, dear heart.”

                Robin smiled up at him radiantly, and then winked, “More’s bruised than the ankle I think, but you can’t ice his…”

                “Robin!”  Emily and Teddy thundered together.

                Anne Blythe had been trying valiantly not to laugh, the tears welling up in her eyes as she held in her appreciation of this.  She turned to her friend Leslie and they chortled out loud together, holding on to each other as they laughed, unable to help themselves.  Now this was a wedding, Anne thought happily.

                Robin played the organ at Ken and Rilla’s wedding.  Apparently it wasn’t allowed by some rule at the church, but Teddy made the kind of donation that allowed them to overlook such silly little regulations.  It was the first time she had ever played for the public outside of Blair Water.  Robin Kent was not one for stage fright.  Playing was just playing to her, it didn’t matter who was there to hear it.  She did make sure that she was paying attention though, because apparently there were certain things that had to be played at certain times in this church.  She would have liked to just make things up, but she knew when not to push her luck.  Daddy had convinced Mum that Coventry should only be for breakfast, and Dr. Blythe had given her a silver dollar, so this was a pretty important day for her.  She had better be on her best behavior!

                When the ceremony was over, she was supposed to play something celebratory.  They had told her about some fanfare that they liked, but she decided that Water Music would be far more appropriate.  The new Mrs. Ford looked like a water sprite herself.  It seemed fitting.  She watched as the wedding party moved away down the aisle of the church.  She had not really talked to the bride much, but felt that she must be a kindred spirit – those afflicted with _the hair_ had to stick together, after all.  Mrs. Doctor Blythe was a fine chum, and another red-haired martyr.  She sat with Robin at breakfast and drew funny faces in her porridge to make her smile – not laugh, mind you, Mum would never have allowed that in Coventry.  All in all, these folks were nice people.  Most of the party was now in the nave of the church, so Robin took liberty and began to improvise on the organ.  Her hands flew over the keys and as she played the pedal coda for the Handel, she adjusted the stops and segued naturally into the Prelude and Fugue in g minor.  Bach had been an organist, after all.  This instrument was built to play his music.


	37. "A Thousand Beautiful Things"

_“The world was meant for you and me_   
_To figure out our destiny_   
_(a thousand beautiful things)_   
_To live_   
_To die_   
_To breathe_   
_To sleep To try to make your life complete.”_

_\- Annie Lennox – “A Thousand Beautiful Things”_

                The wedding reception was held at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Montreal.  A smallish affair, by Montreal standards, it was still an elegant party.  Rilla had moved to Montreal on Ken’s return from the war and subsequent proposal.  Although she was not sure why it had seemed so important to her parents that she do so, she waited until her 20th birthday to marry.  During that time, she attended the Montreal College for Ladies.  She was not really sure why this had been a condition of her relocation either, but was happy to acquiesce to anything that her parents required, so long as she could be near Ken.  As a result, they were well-known in Montreal society, had many friends, and were also a popular couple at McGill gatherings.  Ken was finishing up his degree in literature and history, with no real goal in mind when he graduated.  He had been writing for the Gazette for years on and off and could easily have continued to do so.  He was a decent writer, but had no particular ambition in that area – at least not like his father or Emily did.  He had rather enjoyed managing people and situations during the war and thought seriously about a career in business instead.  When the opportunity arose for him to work at the Bank of Montreal, he took it.  With help from his parents, he purchased a home for himself and Rilla in Westmount and the happy couple decorated and organized it prior to the wedding so that they could simply ‘come home’ after the honeymoon, as Rilla put it.

                After all of the bridal angst and tears, both the ceremony and the after party were beautiful.  The salmon situation was rectified, the bridesmaid’s dresses offset by some lovely ribbons and pearl necklaces, and Rilla-cum-Elsa processed poetically.  Rilla’s dress was lovely in its simplicity, Emily thought, as she danced with her husband that evening.  There was no train to trip over, and the veil she wore for the ceremony had been delicate and almost transparent.  Her gown was satin, as befitted the late fall season, with pearls and crystal beads sewn in elegant floral patterns all over it.  It was demure and graceful, as suited the blushing young bride.  Emily really doubted whether she had ever been quite as young – ever.

_“Sometimes I feel we are born of an age – a predetermined minimum, if you will.  We are never much more or less than that, within our own secret soul.  Our wee man was born with the cares of the world on his shoulders and those could only be lifted when he was.  Our Robin is the perfect young artist – just past her teens, enjoying the wonders of her craft across the centuries – in spite of her meager years here on earth.  Rilla at her wedding was the girl who dreamed of it when she was fourteen.  Rilla at fourteen – no wonder Ken fell in love with her then.  It is her perfect age.  What age am I?  I wonder sometimes…”_

                Teddy loved dancing with his wife.  In his opinion, there was no better way to spend an evening.  Alone or in a crowd, regardless of the music, he simply enjoyed holding her in his arms and letting the feel of the sound take them across the floor.  Part of it must be that the first time they ever danced was at their own wedding.  It seemed ridiculous that they had never danced together before, but they both knew that to be true.  His wife was wearing one of her numerous Paris dresses this night.  This one was longish, thank heavens; some of them were far too short for his approval.  This was a violet-grey satin that matched her eyes perfectly.  Its square neckline set off the long slim curve of her throat and the black velvet trim was a frame for all of the slender lines she possessed.  He had given her some tiny amethyst pins for her hair and they shone within the elaborate coiled tresses piled upon her head.  He edged his hands up her back slightly.  Sometimes he had to damn that Chanel woman for her genius, and sometimes he thanked her.  The fact that this gown fell from Emily’s shoulders, leaving her back bare from neck to waist was one of those moments of indecision for him; it all depended on who was looking at her.  He was, with his eyes and his hands.

                “Where did you get these?” Ken whispered to his wife as they danced together, yet again.  He had retrieved her from his father’s arms with delightful propriety.  His thumb grazed her slim throat and the emeralds that circled it.  He had noticed them during the ceremony – small round stones bordered with diamonds in a leaf and flower pattern.  They matched the green and cream of her rose bouquet perfectly.

                Rilla smiled up at him, “Emily lent them to me.”  She moved her hand to smooth the lapel of his jacket down and then returned it to rest on his shoulder.  Her husband.

                “Really?” he looked at her in surprise.  He had not expected Emily to have anything in common with Rilla, in spite of her obvious approval of their romance.  Emily was more a friend to his father than his new wife.  There were fifteen years and a world of experience between the two of them.  He looked over at his friends curiously.  He knew that Teddy could not hear the music, but yet they danced together very well.  Actually, they did everything well together.

                Rilla nodded, “She’s a really interesting woman.  She and mother and your mother get on so well together.  I did not expect that.”  Although she had met Emily once before, during the war when she came to meet her parents and the Fords for dinner, Rilla had not really paid any attention to what she was like.  She was a vehicle to take a letter to Ken, that was all.  She had expected the Emily that her husband spoke of to be as harsh and brutal as the war she had witnessed.  She did not expect the elfin elegance that had stepped into her parents-in-law’s parlor.  Nor did she expect the quixotic humor and almost archaic practicality.  She could assess a problem quickly and find a solution calmly and carefully.  Rilla hoped that was a trait one learned as a wife and mother.  Her own mother was like that too.

                “They’re all Island girls,” Ken shrugged.  “They have a lot in common.”  He nodded at the president of the bank as they danced past.

                “She does not look like an Island girl at all,” Rilla answered.  Rilla thought that Emily was the epitome of elegance.  She wore pants!  No women that Rilla knew wore pants, although some had talked about it.  She also wore them with the same grace that everyone else wore their skirts and shirtwaists.  She was still a lady, in spite of her clothes.  She returned to her husband’s question, “We were talking last night after the rehearsal and she asked if I had anything borrowed to wear today and when I said I didn’t, she offered me this.”  Rilla touched the stones at her throat, gently.  Emeralds were her favorite stone of all, and these were positively delicious – a lighter green than most, they glimmered like the first full leaves on a tree in spring, catching light and bringing it back to light the stones themselves.  Emeralds meant faithfulness and loyalty, two things she felt most personified her relationship with Ken.

                “Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue…” Ken smiled down at her.  “Never took you for such a Victorian romantic, Rilla-mine.”  Actually he had, more often than not.  “And what might fulfill the other three requirements in this delightful ensemble?”  He held her tighter.

                Rilla shut her eyes and tried not to think about how truly wonderful this felt, “Umm… the veil was mother’s, the dress is new, the emeralds are borrowed, and your mother gave me a blue ribbon for my stockings.”  She could hardly believe that she had mentioned a piece of ladies underclothing to her husband, but perhaps it was because she was really a modern woman.  Or, perhaps it was the fact that Emily Kent had told her that you could always speak your heart to your husband.  Of all of the matrimonial advice she had received (all brides, young or old, are bound to receive more than they wish and far less than they need) this seemed the most logical and the least frightening.

                “You ought to paint them, love,” Emily said softly, looking at the happy couple across the floor.  “I love how beautiful people feel when they get married.  It’s like they are on a cloud of bliss.  Nothing matters except being together.  What a delightful word – bliss.  The s’s are endless, just like the happiness they portray, and the b is so fat and round and comfortable to land on.”

                Teddy could not argue with that logic at all, nor with Emily’s waxing lexicological.  She and Owen could sit for hours at a time debating the importance of a simple character in the spelling of a word, let alone the word itself.  “And does that change, do you think, when you become staid and comfortable and wax fat and happy in years of matrimonial comfort?”  He didn’t think so.

                Emily looked at him, the unmistakable evidence of her own happiness shining up at him, “It certainly hasn’t for me.”


End file.
